Off the Rails
by water-lily-43175
Summary: Off the rails: To start behaving strangely, in a way that is not acceptable to society; to lose track of reality. James Potter thinks his life is perfect. Things are about to go wrong.
1. one

"James..."

I winced at the voice and squeezed my eyes tight shut, hoping that it would somehow block her out.

"What _now_?" I muttered.

I heard a rustling from behind me, and felt the covers shift slightly; a delicate hand found my hip and a few blonde tendrils of hair hung in front of my face. I sighed, and rolled over onto my back.

"James, I've been thinking," Cassie said, hitching the duvet back around her bare shoulders. I fought hard to keep my eyes on her face. "And I've talked to Mam, and she agrees with me about it..."

"About _what_?" I sighed exasperatedly. "I don't have all day, Cassie; I've got a wedding to be at in an hour."

Her expression darkened slightly, either at my brisk tone or at the reference to the wedding she was most definitely _not_ invited to.

"I think that we should make us official," she said, biting her lip.

I raised an eyebrow and propped my head up on my arm.

"_Official_?" I repeated. "Like, a _relationship_?"

She nodded, and I inwardly groaned.

"I thought I said I didn't do relationships?"

"Well, surely this is as good as-"

"No, it's really not." I sat up, irritated. "This is nothing. It's a bit of fun. An _arrangement_ at most, if you want to be crude. I don't do relationships! I told you that at the start."

She sighed heavily.

"But _Jamesie_..."

I winced at the nickname which countless girls insisted on giving me, no matter how many times I told them I couldn't stand it.

"It's so _bad_ for my image, that I'm just fooling around like this, like I'm just another notch on your bedpost-"

"And who said I thought you were anything more?" I shrugged and got out of bed. I knew it was blunt, but I also knew it was the only way of making her listen.

She sniffed, clearly offended.

"You're lucky to have me, you know," she said loftily. "Hundreds of men would do anything to be in your shoes-"

"Look, Cassie," I said, turning to face her. "I've told you already. I don't do relationships. I don't give a damn who it is; you could be the Queen of Sheba for all I care. I don't want a relationship. And I have a wedding to be at in an hour's time, so I really can't get involved in a full-scale row about it."

I pulled on a pair of boxers, and yesterday's jeans.

"You don't have to be so-"

"James!"

I'd never been so glad to hear my sister's voice.

Cassie's shoulders sagged. Lily's arrival presumably meant that the conversation was over.

"James, are you in there?"

I sighed with exasperation. Cassie turned her back on me and began to get dressed. She looked annoyed.

"Yes, I'm here," I replied lazily.

"Who's the girl?"

I raised an eyebrow.

"Who says there's a girl?"

"James, it's a Saturday morning. Of course there's a girl. It's not Monday's bird, is it? Aaliyah? Alexa? Allegra? No, she was New Years' pull, wasn't she? Alyssa, that's the name. Or is she having a rest today?"

Cassie gasped furiously and turned her head to glare at me. She'd clearly assumed she had sole rights over me. Well, she was most certainly wrong on _that_ front.

"James, for Merlin's sake, lose the bird and get your ass out here now!"

Cassie stood up and scowled.

"I don't like your sister," she said in clipped tones, picking up the rest of her belongings from beside the bed.

"Most girls don't," I replied dryly. "See you round, Lynch."

She sniffed, disgruntled, before Disapparating with a loud _pop_. I shook my head and sighed with relief.

Lily was standing in the middle of my living room, tapping her foot impatiently. She did that a lot. She'd inherited it from Mum.

"Finally!" she cried, thrusting a thermal cup and paper bag into my hands. "I got you breakfast, I figured you wouldn't have any food in here, as usual..." She tailed off, looking round the room with a disgusted expression on her face.

I put the cup down on the coffee table, ignoring Lily's cries about using a coaster, and pulled the croissant out of the bag. I tore it in half and stuffed one half into my mouth whole.

"You're revolting," she said, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

I chewed for a moment, then swallowed.

"Guy's prerogative."

"Who was the bird?"

"Cassie Lynch." I pulled a face.

Lily frowned. "Thought she was November's squeeze?"

I shrugged. "She lasted a while," I said, finishing off the croissant. "No strings attached for quite a while. Think I've shelved her now though. She was beginning to get a bit clingy."

Lily shook her head in distaste.

"Sometimes I wonder if you were adopted," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Anyway, you need to shower and get some smart dress robes on sharpish. Mum's sent me to chivvy you along and I'm not hovering in your pigsty any longer than necessary-"

"There's nothing wrong with my flat!" I protested.

"James, you could grow a pet in your kitchen," she said. "_Really_, is it that hard to keep things clean? Just a few flicks of a wand..."

"I never did get the hang of all those household spells." I shrugged. "Anyway, I'll be fine without a shower, I'm perfectly clean-"

"You went out last night and brought back a girl, you are not going _anywhere_ without having a shower first," she said, pointing towards the bathroom menacingly. "_Go_. I'll find you some dress robes and leave them outside the door – I trust you still _have_ some smart dress robes, and they haven't all been ripped or damaged in the throes of passionate stranger sex?"

"I-" I blinked. "You seem to know too much about stranger sex for my liking-"

I yelped as she grabbed my arm in a vice-like grip and dragged me towards the bathroom.

"In. The. Shower."

She slammed the door shut behind me. I winced at the loud noise, before stripping off and getting into the shower. My peace was short-lived. Before long there was a banging on the door.

"James? We're going to be late!"

I rolled my eyes and turned off the shower. After hurriedly drying myself, I opened the door to find a set of navy dress robes sitting neatly on the floor. I pulled them on and towel-dried my hair, then threw the towels into the corner of the bathroom.

"Hang the towels up!"

I scowled and looked through the doorway into the living room. Sure enough, Lily was sitting on the settee with her back to me.

"How do you know I haven't already hung them up?"

"Because you're _you_," she replied matter-of-factly.

I shook my head in exasperation, but hung the towels on the rack.

I couldn't complain about Lily as a sister, really. Most of the time anyway. "Mischievous" could have been her middle name. She was worse than Uncle George and Freddie put together.

She wasn't one to beat about the bush though. I'd lost count of the number of girls she'd upset with her outspoken ways. I guess that was one trait which we had in common. We'd both most definitely inherited it from Mum.

Of course, she'd also inherited Mum's bossy ways.

"Shoes on, cloak on, comb your hair, get a _move_ on! We don't have all morning!"

I sighed, shaking my head with mock exasperation, as I headed into my bedroom and shoved on my smart shoes. I ignored the third order and grabbed my cloak from the back of the door, throwing it over my shoulders. Then I snatched up my wand from the bedside table before strolling back into the living room.

Lily put down a magazine –_ Quidditch Weekly_, the Christmas edition, which had me on the cover. I had three copies, one of which was in a frame on my wall. My magazine self winked at me.

"I don't know which of you is more arrogant." She sighed and flipped the magazine over, before getting to her feet. She scrutinised me, then adjusted my collar. "Well, you'll do, I suppose. Come on, Nana will be having kittens."

She wrapped her arms tightly around my waist.

"It's at times like these that I wish you could Apparate," I muttered fondly. I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and Disapparated with her.

We appeared just outside the fence that ran around the garden of the Burrow. I let out a sharp cry at the blinding whiteness of the snow.

"The light wouldn't be such a shock if your life wasn't so orientated around your bedroom."

She took my elbow and dragged me up the hill behind the house to the orchard where the "wedding marquee" was set up. We headed straight to my brother Al and cousins Hugo and Freddie (who doubled up as best male mate), who were all standing beside the entrance with seating plans, looking uncomfortable in their smart dress robes. I winced; I should have been helping out with that.

"Oh, look who finally decides to show up!" Freddie punched me in the arm. "Lazy sod, ditch your duties, why not? Oh no, it's Auntie Muriel ... Come on, James, I'll show you to your seat."

We ducked, turning away from the entrance and the dreaded Auntie Muriel – last time I'd seen her she'd told me off for my posture when flying – and headed into the marquee, past Teddy and Louis who were returning to the entrance with seating plans of their own.

"Merlin, she's a nightmare," Freddie muttered, stopping a few feet in. "Anyway, what held you up this time? You didn't forget about-"

"No, of course I didn't," I cut in, looking around for my parents. I spotted them sitting in the second row, with Uncle Charlie, and grinned – he was my favourite Uncle. "I got held up," I continued, turning back to Freddie.

"Girl troubles?" He raised an eyebrow. "Trouble in paradise, eh?"

"Tell me about it," I said, rolling my eyes and tugging at my collar. "Cassie bloody Lynch thinking that a couple of months of tapping means true love-"

"Who's tapping who?"

My female best mate, Brigid, appeared at Freddie's shoulder. She tutted as her eyes fell on me and stepped forwards to readjust my collar. "Really, Jimmy, why do you always look such a mess in dress robes? It's ridiculous, you manage to pull everything else off..."

"I'll take that as a compliment." I grinned at her.

She rolled her eyes and stepped backwards. I glanced at what she was wearing; a short pink dress which showed off far too much leg for her own good.

"You look nice," I said. I knew I'd have to bat the guys away from her as well as Lily all day.

"Thanks!" Brigid beamed at me. "So, who was it last night then?"

"Your best friend," I said dryly. "Cassie Lynch. Tried suggesting that a _relationship_ was on the cards-"

"Did she know about Alyssa?" Brigid smirked.

"Well, she does now, thanks to mini Potter," I said. "I'm amazed I escaped with my life. Anyway, I think that's all cleared up now."

"Good," she said approvingly. "You can do so much better than Lynch, Jimmy."

Freddie snorted.

"You think he _wants_ better? Murph, he doesn't care who he pulls so long as she's a good-"

"You three really ought to be sitting down, you know."

Al had appeared between me and Brigid.

I rolled my eyes and nudged him gently.

"You need to lighten up a bit," I told him, as I followed him up the aisle to where Mum, Dad and Lily were sitting. Freddie followed us and Brigid headed for a row of seats further back. "Got your eyes on any chicks? I'm expecting a few hot Veela cousins to show up-"

"James, that's practically incest," he replied in disgust.

I rolled my eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous, they're distant relations by marriage, there's _nothing_ wrong with it at all."

He rolled his eyes.

"And that sums up everything that is wrong with you, James," he said, smirking slightly. "What about Cassie Lynch?"

I waved an airy hand, but made a mental note never to do it again; it wasn't at all masculine. "She's old news."

"And by old news, you mean yesterday's."

"You paint me in such a bad light." I mock-pouted. "And actually, it was this morning, but I won't be picky."

"If anyone's painting you in a bad light, it's _you_."

"And once again, you're sounding like Mum. Or worse, _Lily_. You really need to get laid."

"I don't have any issues with my love life, thank you," he snapped, sounding testy. "Just because you need to bed three different girls a week, doesn't mean I feel the need to."

I shrugged as we reached our seats.

"I can't help it if they throw themselves at me," I said. "Morning Mum, Dad."

"Hello, darling." Mum stood up to greet me, standing on tiptoes and giving me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Well, you'll do, I suppose..." She readjusted my collar. I pulled a face.

"Brie just did that, I really don't think you need to-"

"I had to properly dress you before we left, how do you _always_ mess your collar up?" Lily chipped in. I stuck my tongue out at her as I passed, and sat down between her and Uncle Charlie.

"Well, if it isn't the man of the moment." Uncle Charlie grinned and clapped me on the shoulder. "Spectacular performance last week! You've got the _Prophet_ and _Quidditch Weekly_ waxing lyrical about you."

I grinned as I thought back to last week's exhibition match, an annual Quidditch match held between the winners of the British and Irish League and the German League. It had been tight at the start but in the end we had run away with it.

"They're always waxing lyrical about me, Uncle Charlie," I replied. "In fairness I couldn't have played so well if not for Murph and Della. They're fantastic Chasers to play alongside."

"You three are the sole reason why the Falcons have won the League for the past two seasons, I'd say. It's just a shame the other two aren't English. You must be on the cusp of getting a call up after last season, mustn't you?"

"We've got enough English talent around, we'll let Ireland have Murph and Germany have Della." I grinned cheekily. "And I'm not so sure about us Chasers doing all the leg work. Our Alfie was the best Keeper in the League last year. He had both the most saves _and_ the least goals conceded. And when you can choose between Klaus Brand and Stefan Krum for your Seeker, you're not doing too badly. As for England ... well, I'd love to play for them some day, all players strive to represent their country, but there are some big names in the set up at the moment that I'd have to shift."

"I'd back you to be there by June," he said.

I nodded in agreement, chewing my lip. "I hope so," I said. "I'd do anything, _anything_, to get a chance to play in this World Cup. But the domestic season is my first priority; we want a third straight League win."

"I hear you've managed to snag the Bagman twins from the Wasps," he said excitedly. "That's a huge achievement from your coach, isn't it?"

"Actually, it's Brigid who should get the credit for that one. How she did it I will never know, but it's a huge double signing from us, because our Beaters were the one area where we were weak last season-"

"Says a member of the team that won the League." He chuckled. "Well, I'm hoping to be in the country a bit more this year, so hopefully I'll be able to watch some of your games. Ron keeps talking up the Cannons match. I'm not sure why. Didn't you flatten them last year?"

A flash of blue in front of me caught my eye and I turned my head to see Teddy take the seat in front of me.

"I wouldn't mention that too loudly, Charlie. It's still a sore spot at family dinners," he said. There was a gleeful tone in his voice – he was, naturally, a Falcons fan.

"You're looking a little flustered." I grinned.

Teddy sighed with exasperation.

"_Never_ have kids," he said, shaking his head. "Nightmare, absolute nightmare ... why Dominique ever thought this was a good idea I will _never _know."

"Probably because she's not the one looking after them," I said dryly. "Don't worry, Teddy, I have _no_ plans to have children for at _least_ the next twenty years, if ever."

"Still no plans of settling down?" Uncle Charlie asked.

I snorted.

"I'm twenty one, I'm at the top of my game, I'm having a bit of fun here and there ... I am _definitely_ not planning on settling down with _anyone_ any time soon. Besides," I added, "even if I wanted to, there's no girl I'd _want_ to settle down with, not that I know of at any rate."

I felt a presence by my left shoulder, between me and Uncle Charlie.

"Thought you were seeing the Lynch bird?"

I turned and saw Roxanne's face. She was sitting behind Uncle Charlie and had leaned forwards to join in the conversation.

"I wasn't _seeing_ her, we just had a no strings attached arrangement, which ended this morning when she tried to make it serious," I said.

"I don't see why you couldn't agree to make it serious," Freddie chipped in from beside Roxanne. "I mean, you could still play the field behind her back. She wouldn't have to know. Have you _seen_ that girl's legs?"

"That's going too far even for James," Teddy said, frowning slightly. "If it's mutually no strings attached then you can screw around with other women, but the minute she thinks it's serious then other women are off limits. Either that or you're just gonna hurt her feelings big time, and even Jimmy here has _some_ morals."

"That and I wouldn't want to upset _her_," Roxanne supplied. "Imagine the next Bats match."

I shuddered, thinking of Cassie Lynch's brothers, the Beaters for the Ballycastle Bats, and two players who I didn't see eye to eye with in the first place.

At that moment the groom, Ethan, and his best man stood up at the front of the marquee. Teddy swivelled around to face the front, Freddie and Roxanne sat back in their own seats, and I shifted my weight in my seat back towards the front.

A moment or so later the band struck up their music, and the guests towards the back of the marquee began cooing and awing. I rolled my eyes, knowing what – or who – the object of their attention was. Sure enough, Teddy and Victoire's six year old daughter Dora soon came into view, clutching a simple bouquet of flowers in one hand and the hand of her three year old brother Remus in the other. She reached the end of the aisle and led Remus, who seemed completely confused by the goings-on, to Teddy, who set him on his lap, before returning to the front.

"That is so adorable," Lily breathed from next to me.

"You're such a typical female," I murmured to her, receiving an elbow in the ribs in return.

A couple of Dominique's friends - who were very good-looking, I observed - then made their way up the aisle.

"Don't even think about it," Lily warned me quietly.

"Who said I was thinking of anything to do with that?" I replied indignantly.

"You're James Potter, of course you were," she shot back. "Besides, I could tell you were just checking them out, and you've got no chance, they're both in long-term relationships, Petra's getting married in June-"

Mum leaned around Al to shoot us a dirty glare. We both shut up and turned our eyes back to the entrance of the marquee to see Victoire making her way up the aisle. She was followed, finally, by Dominique, who was on the arm of Uncle Bill and grinning like an idiot. Lily let out a dreamy sigh. I rolled my eyes again and elbowed her back.

"You could at least be happy for her on her big day," she scolded under her breath.

"I hate weddings, you know that," I replied in a whisper.

She shook her head in disapproval.

"_Definitely_ adopted..."

I zoned out of the wedding service, noticing that Uncle Charlie had done much the same. I held back a snicker. In front of me, Aunt Fleur and Nana Weasley were sobbing into handkerchiefs. _Women_.

Suddenly, everyone started clapping and standing up. Lily grabbed my elbow and pulled me to my feet.

"_Really_, James..." she began.

I blinked.

"Is that it?" I said blankly.

The chairs that we had been sitting on were rearranging themselves around tables that had appeared out of midair.

"I'll take that as a yes. Thank _Merlin_." I reached out for a glass of champagne from a tray that floated past me, and turned to find Freddie and Brigid.

"_James_! You have to congratulate the bride and groom!"

"I can do that later. They're crowded with people already. Look." I nodded my head in the direction of Dom and Ethan, who were almost impossible to see due to the throng of well-wishers behind them. "See you later, mini Potter, and behave. No boys for you!" I ruffled her hair and ignored her protests, before turning and heading towards Brigid, who was with her mother, Sinead.

"Hello, James," Sinead said as I joined them. "Brie and I were just saying how beautiful Dominique looks-"

Brigid let out a laugh.

"Mam, Jimmy probably barely noticed her. You'd be better off talking to him about how the bridesmaids looked," she said, linking her arm through mine. "Hey, we've had a few comments from people about last week's match. Everyone seems _very _impressed with your performance."

"I hope you'll be carrying on that form for us this season?" Sinead added.

Sinead was an ex-Ireland Chaser, and was currently the Falcons coach, so had every reason to hope I played well.

"That's the plan," I replied.

"Especially if we're getting you in the England squad by spring," Brigid chipped in.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Spring now? You said summer two weeks ago!"

She shrugged.

"Yes, well, your rep's gone through the roof since you destroyed the Harriers last week. You would not _believe_ how many calls and owls I've had since from managers and coaches asking to sign you up. I told them you were all unavailable, hope you don't mind..."

"I _am_ unavailable. My contract runs 'til the end of this season," I said stubbornly.

"About that, James, we need to discuss extensions-" Sinead began, before being called away by someone else.

"Come on, let's find a table," I said, steering Brigid through the crowd. We found an empty table close to the bar and sat down at it. Brigid grabbed a glass of champagne from another tray as we went.

"So, who's shown an interest in me?" I asked, lounging back in my chair.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Because your ego _really_ needs stoking further," she said, with a slight smile. "Unsurprisingly, the Heidelberg Harriers, after you, Ryan and Della demolished their Chasers. They wanted all three of you – well, they never had a chance with you and Ryan. I had to ask Della about that one, given that her granddad used to play for them, but she wasn't interested either. Um, lets's see..." She began counting them off on her fingers. "The Cannons, Puddlemere, the Tornados, Vratsa Vultures – the fact you can't speak a word of Portuguese ended that one pretty sharpish – the Karasjok Kites – again, you can't speak a word of Norwegian – the Woollongong Warriors – you don't like shrimp so Australia is a no no – the Moutohora Macaws – you don't look good in yellow – the Gimbi Giant-Slayers – there is _no_ way you're going to any team with that name, that's the last thing your ego needs – the Fitchburg Finches – well, the USA is _not_ the place to be if you want to advance your Quidditch career, it's not a big enough sport there – the Stonewall Stormers – they offered a ridiculously small price for you and the wages were stupidly low too, I mean, do they _know_ who they're dealing with here? – and those are only the ones I remember. There were a fair few. I'd like to say you weren't the only one with offers though," she added hurriedly. "I've been inundated with them all week, it's been a _nightmare_."

I grinned. Brigid was a sports agent, and making a damn good fist of it too. She'd started off with me, back when I was an eighteen year old reserve for her mum's team, and her older brother Ryan, my fellow Chaser, but had soon picked up the rest of the Falcons squad and a few other Irish players across the sea too.

"Anyway, your present for Dom and Ethan is a photo frame which shows a different photo every day," she continued. "I even wrapped it badly, figured I'd do the job properly. I took the money from your account so you don't need to worry about paying me back."

I grinned. Having Brigid as an agent had its perks. She tended to act as my PA a lot of the time, although she complained about it frequently, though only light-heartedly.

"And I got your present for Lily at the same time too. I'll pop by tomorrow morning to give it to you. Just make sure you don't pull anyone tonight. I don't think your parents would be too pleased if you were a no-show. People only turn eighteen once, you know."

I groaned.

"But it's her _eighteenth_, that's nothing special-"

"To her it is." She flicked a piece of confetti across the table at me. "So you're _not_ going to be hungover, you're going to be up bright and early, and looking at least _remotely_ excited for her."

I sighed exasperatedly.

"Honestly, I never get any rest! If it isn't Lily nagging me it's Mum, and if it's not her it's you..."

I was only joking. Brigid was probably the best agent I could have, and I'd be completely clueless if not for her constantly reminding me of my various duties and meetings.

"Where's Freddie? I need a bit of testosterone to back me up..."

I scanned the marquee, and froze when I saw Freddie chatting up one of Dom's Veela cousins. I turned back to Brigid, hoping to change conversation before she saw him, but the expression on her face told me I was too late. I shifted round the table and slipped an arm round her shoulders.

"He's an idiot, Brie, don't let it get to you," I said in what was supposed to be a comforting voice.

"I know," she said, looking down at her hands and chewing her lip, "but it's just so hard, I mean, you tell me one thing and then he acts as though he feels the complete opposite..."

"Look, trust me, Brie, I'm a bloke," I said. "He likes you, he's just-"

"Flirting with other girls. In front of me. Because _that's _ a sure-fire way of pulling me-"

"He's clueless, Brie! He doesn't know how to pull you, because to him you're worth much more than any of those girls. You actually _mean_ something. And you've known him since he was eleven, you know of all his most embarrassing moments, and he _knows_ that. Trust me, that makes things more awkward. Look, maybe you should try making a move-"

She laughed hollowly.

"Yeah, sure, excuse me while I wave goodbye to my credibility," she said. "Besides, he'd probably just pull other girls behind my back anyway. That's what you boys do, isn't it?"

"Hey!" I said defensively. "I don't do relationships in the first place, but if I did I wouldn't cheat. Give me _some_ credit. And Freddie's the same, there's no way he'd cheat on you..."

"You'll understand if I'm not _quite _convinced by that," she replied, leaning her head on my shoulder. She paused for a moment. "Think his bint would look good with green hair?"

I smirked. After all, you couldn't be friends with me and Freddie for ten years without _some_ kind of troublesome streak.


	2. two

Brigid opted for the tried and tested method of pulling the covers off me to wake me up the next morning. Unfortunately for her, it may have achieved the desired effect, but it also had a certain drawback.

"James!" she yelped, turning away and covering her eyes. "Put some clothes on when you sleep, why don't you?"

"Because removing my duvet is clearly the only way of waking me," I grumbled, rolling out of bed and pulling on some clean underwear. "It's alright, you can look."

"I'm okay, thanks," she said, still facing the door. "In fact, I'll wait in the living room. Hurry up."

I did so, tugging on a pair of jeans and a shirt.

In the living room, Brigid was doing a Lily, reading the Christmas _Quidditch Weekly_. My own face winked at me from the cover as she shut the magazine and threw it down on the side table.

"I've got your present here," she said, standing up and rummaging through her bag. "It's a dress for clubbing. Lily said she liked it when we were shopping last week. Here."

She pulled out a present far bigger than the bag it had been in. She'd begged Aunt Hermione to put an Undetectable Extension Charm on it, and it was now big enough for someone to fit in it. Literally. Freddie had hidden in it once, and had given Brigid the shock of her life. I think she'd tried to keep him in there to take him home, but, unfortunately for her, that hadn't worked.

"I didn't get a card. You never seem to see the point in them so I figured not getting one would make it seem a little bit realistic."

I pulled a face, as I examined the wrapping job. "You could have _looked_ at it while wrapping it..."

She shrugged. "Why? You never do."

With that, she Disapparated with a quiet _pop_. I shook my head and followed suit.

I Apparated onto Mum and Dad's doorstep just as Dad opened the front door.

"Morning, Brigid," he smiled, seeing her first.

Opening the door wider, he did a double take and glanced at his watch.

"What the hell are you doing up before midday, James?"

"Nice to see you too," I said, slightly affronted. "I do see the morning most days-"

"Before he goes to bed at about sunrise," Brigid interrupted.

I followed her into the house, shaking my head slightly.

In the kitchen, Lily was sitting at the head of the large dining table, surrounded by presents and wrapping paper and with her breakfast plate in front of her. A few of her school friends were sitting with her, presumably having come round for breakfast. Mum was leaning against the kitchen counter with a mug of tea, but Al was nowhere to be seen.

A couple of Lily's friends giggled when I entered. I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes.

"Happy birthday, Lily!" Brigid said, handing over a present and bending down to give her a hug.

"Thanks, Brie!" she replied, beaming. Then she turned to me. "Hello, sleepy-head. I can't say I expected to see you before Al."

"Thanks, Lil, really appreciate it," I replied. "Happy birthday." I handed the present over, then turned to the blonde sitting next to her. "Morning, Madeleine," I said, winking at her.

"Hello, gorgeous," Maddie replied, twirling a strand of hair round her finger flirtatiously.

"Do you think you two could possibly refrain from nauseous conversation on my birthday?" Lily said, raising an eyebrow. She tore into the present from me and pulled a blue dress out of the wrappings. "It's the one I saw last week! Thank you, Brie!"

I cleared my throat loudly.

"I mean, thanks, James," she said sweetly.

I beamed at her.

"No worries, Lil, it was one of those 'I saw it and thought of you' moments – that is _far_ too short, you're not wearing that out," I added hurriedly as she stood up and held it up to herself.

"It's alright, I'll make sure she doesn't get up to any mischief," said Kit, another one of Lily's mates.

"I knew I liked you for a reason, Christopher," I said, pushing myself up to sit on the kitchen counter.

"_James_! Get off the counter. If you want to sit, then you can sit at the table like _civilised_ people do. I know it's a long shot, but at least _try_ for once," Mum said sharply. "Do you want any breakfast, darling?" she added as I took a seat next to Kit. "I can do bacon, sausage, egg, toast..."

"The full house, please, Mum," I said, grinning at her.

"Brigid?" Mum asked, turning to her.

She shook her head. "I can't stay, I'm afraid. I have a meeting with Mum and the Bagmans at ten, but thank you for the offer."

"I heard about that one, well done," Mum said, as she took a glass from the cupboard. "You two left early last night, were you okay?"

Opting not to stay too long, when Freddie was clearly on a mission to pull as many girls as possible, the two of us had headed back to Brigid's flat with Ryan, after we'd congratulated Dom and Ethan.

"Not my scene," I said, shrugging.

Brigid smiled gratefully at me.

"Yes, because Veela cousins really aren't your thing," Lily cut in sarcastically.

"I decided to have the night off," I said dryly, taking the glass of orange juice Mum handed to me.

"Well, Al decided to take up your mantle. He went home with one of them last night," Lily smirked.

"You're _joking_!" came a three-way chorus of me, Brigid and Maddie.

"That dark horse," Brigid continued, looking as stunned as I felt. "Didn't know he had it in him. You're a bad influence on him, Jimmy."

"How is it _my_ fault?"

"Well, it's hardly mine," said Lily darkly, "seeing as how you, Al and Kit between you make sure no other male comes within touching distance of me."

"And rightly so," Kit cut in before I could speak.

Lily's indignant response was interrupted by the arrival of Uncle Percy and Aunt Audrey, with Molly and Lucy in tow. She made a slight grimace; Uncle Percy could tire anyone out very quickly, and Molly was a female version of him. Mum hid a smile as she handed a plate of food to me.

"Can't stay long, I'm afraid," Uncle Percy said pompously. "We have a lunch date with the Minister."

"_Poor Kingsley_," Brigid mouthed to me; I stuffed my mouth with bacon to hide my sniggers.

Roxanne strolled into the kitchen, followed by Uncle George and Aunt Angelina but no Freddie. Brigid's face fell slightly; his no-show almost proved that he, too, had pulled at Dom's wedding.

"Freddie will be along in a bit," Roxanne said, leaning over to hug Lily. "I've just been round his to kick him and Blondie out of bed."

Brigid's face lost the minimal colour it still had. Once Uncle George and Aunt Angelina had greeted Lily, she stepped forward and placed a hand on Lily's shoulder.

"I should be going, Lil," she said quietly. "Hope you have a good day." She glanced up at me. "I'll pop round tomorrow to fill you in on your calendar, Jimmy."

"No problem," I replied brightly.

She smiled weakly, before leaving.

"They still not together then?"

Aunt Audrey sat down beside me and stole a slice of toast.

"Nope," I replied and turned my attention to saving the rest of my breakfast.

"See, if you guys were still at school, you could lock them both in a broom closet and be done with it," she said smoothly.

"We don't do broom closets, Aunt Audrey, we're too classy for that," I replied, before shovelling a forkful of food into my mouth.

Aunt Audrey raised an eyebrow.

"_Very_ classy," she said.

Being married to my least favourite uncle, _naturally_ Aunt Audrey was my favourite aunt. I still hadn't quite figured out why that was the case, though one had to admire her patience, living in the same house as both Uncle Percy and Molly. She was straight-talking and no nonsense, which I found quite refreshing, and she also had a very dry, sarcastic sense of humour, which complemented Uncle Percy as he had none at all. Aunt Audrey also had the distinction of being the only member of my family, and indeed only person aside from Brigid, to have been to all of my Quidditch matches. Not even Mum and Dad had managed that. And she didn't even like Quidditch that much. I couldn't argue that she wasn't loyal.

"Why didn't you stay long yesterday?" she asked me. "You didn't even come to talk to your poor old Aunt Audrey. There were hundreds of guests wanting to talk to the famous James Potter after your match last week."

I shrugged.

"Didn't want to overshadow Dom's big day," I said breezily.

"See, I'd believe that," Aunt Audrey continued, "given that there _is_ a heart in there somewhere, hidden below the ego, if it weren't for the fact that the blonde you left with was _Brigid_, not to mention her brother." She lowered her voice. "You lost me ten Galleons to Lucy, I felt certain you'd be on the pull last night, and instead you left it to _Albus_, who may be a very good-looking, charming young man in his own right but certainly isn't normally that type of guy. So. Why did you leave early?"

I glanced round the kitchen to make sure that Freddie's parents and sister weren't nearby.

"Same reason Brie left just now," I said quietly, mopping up my plate with the last slice of toast. "She didn't want to see Freddie."

Aunt Audrey pulled a face.

"Where d'you go?"

"Brie's," I replied in the same quiet voice. "The three of us watched a replay of last week's match. I hadn't watched it back until last night. Did you see that Porskoff Ploy just before Adelheid scored our fifteenth? Completely bamboozled their Keeper!"

"It was one hell of a performance from the seven of you," she agreed, nodding. "I think Roxanne was a bit put out by it."

I winced. Roxanne was one of our reserve Chasers. She was damn good – apparently Aunt Angelina played Chaser on the same Gryffindor team as Dad and Uncle George for years, which would explain where the talent came from – but Ryan, Adelheid and I were too good for her to get a regular spot on the team.

"Hopefully she'll get a chance this year, given that the World Cup is right in the middle of our season," I said. "I don't know whether they're going to give us a break during the tournament or not – though I expect so, because there aren't enough pitches to play League games _and_ World Cup games at the same time – but our international guys will probably miss a couple of League matches in the run-up to the Cup. Ryan will be off with Ireland, and Della with Germany, so it would be an ideal chance for Roxie to string a few games together and show the coaches what she can really do. I mean, it's all very well seeing her in training, but we played together for Gryffindor for four years, we play so well together, and you can't see that in training."

"Who's to say you won't be playing in the World Cup too?" She raised an eyebrow.

"I don't like to count my ashwinders before they've hatched," I said, shrugging. "I know what I've got to do to get in the side, I know I'm on their watch list, all I can do is play to the best of my ability for the Falcons this season and we'll see how it pans out from there."

"Very mature," Aunt Audrey said, sounding impressed. "You do surprise me sometimes."

I would have replied if Al hadn't walked into the kitchen looking slightly worse for wear at that moment, prompting rowdy jeers from Lily, Uncle George, Lucy and Maddie.

"Morning, dear," Mum said, as he walked round the table, ruffled up Lily's hair and slumped into the chair opposite me, next to a friend of Lily's, whose name I couldn't recall off the top of my head – I only properly knew Kit and Maddie, who practically lived round Mum and Dad's during the holidays. "Breakfast?"

"Yes please, Mum," he replied wearily, running a hand through his own hair. "Happy birthday, Lil. I forgot your present, but I have got it, it's back at mine. I'll bring it round tomorrow somewhen – you busy tomorrow?"

"I have this thing called school, Al," she said loftily. "Not something you're aware of, clearly."

"You back at school already?" He looked bewildered. "But you've only just broken up for Christmas!"

"I broke up for Christmas two weeks ago, funnily enough, hence why I'm back tomorrow." She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, you need to stop pulling, Al. You're now channelling James's stupidity."

"Hey!" we both replied indignantly as Mum gave him a glass of orange juice. A big fan of orange juice after a night out, was Mum.

"Anyway, I hear you ousted Rosie from the flat last night," Lily continued.

"I didn't _oust_ her, she chose to stay at Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione's," Al said gruffly.

"I wonder why," Roxanne giggled.

Freddie chose that moment to make his grand entrance.

"Happy birthday, young Lillian," he said loudly. "Can't stay long, Angeline's still in bed-"

Al choked on his juice. Uncle George choked too, though not on juice.

"You pulled a girl called Angeline?" Roxanne said incredulously. "That ... that is so distasteful."

"How is it distasteful?" Freddie replied.

"That's like me pulling a guy called Georges!" she said, eyes wide.

"It's funny you should mention that, she has a brother called Georges-"

"Oh crikey."

"She can't help what she's called!" he said indignantly. "Anyway, want me to hook you up with this brother?"

"I'm going," she said flatly. "Have a good day, Lil! And you're disowned," she added, pointing at Freddie, before leaving the kitchen.

"You said that last week!" he yelled at her retreating back.

"Yes, well, I disowned you both years ago and you insist on coming back," Aunt Angelina cut in. "Anyway, we should be going too, that shop won't open itself. Hope you have a good day, Lily."

"Thank you, and thanks for the present, too. It was nice to see you!" Lily got up to hug both Aunt Angelina and Uncle George, before they followed Roxanne out of the house.

"I think it's time we left, too," Uncle Percy said.

Aunt Audrey nodded and got to her feet.

"Good to see you, Jimmy," she said, ruffling my hair. I batted her arm away. "Look after yourself. See you soon, Lily, have a lovely day."

Once Uncle Percy and his family left, Al and Lily let out long sighs of relief.

"Phew!" Lily began to clear away the mounds of wrapping paper in front of her. "Honestly, how obnoxious can someone get? Oh, _terribly_ sorry, we _really_ can't stay long, lunch with the Minister you know. _Honestly_-" Laughter from Freddie, Al and me drowned her out; even Dad was fighting back a smile. "I feel sorry for poor old Kingsley, that's the last thing you want to deal with on a Sunday morning."

"Lily," Mum scolded.

"Sorry," she said, not sounding it in the slightest, "but was he adopted or something? There's no way he's from the same family as you and Uncle George. I mean, Uncle Bill was Prefect and Head Boy and all that jazz, and he's nowhere near as bad as Uncle Percy!"

"I think Mum sometimes wished somebody would adopt Fred and George," Mum said wryly, handing Al a plate of food and taking the large ball of wrapping paper that Lily handed to her. "Breakfast, Freddie?"

"I can't stay long, but thanks anyway," he replied. "Um ... has Brigid been round yet?"

"Yeah, you missed her." There was a slight smirk on Lily's face as she said this. "She had to leave; meeting with the Bagmans. Speaking of meetings and Bagmans, any chance you could arrange a meeting with Cato Bagman for me, Jimmy? He's _divine_."

Maddie nodded in agreement.

"I'm not setting you up with anyone, you're far too young," I said flatly.

She sniffed indignantly.

"Fine, I'll ask Brie," she said. "Must be a perk of the job, getting to manage Cato Bagman..."

"She's not a manager, she's an agent, it's completely different," I said sharply. "Don't go telling her she manages people. She doesn't need any confusion over her job description. She tries to manage me enough as it is."

"I'll be your manager if you want," Maddie cut in with a wink.

"What's your hourly rate?" I replied with a smirk.

Lily let her head fall onto the table.

"On a Sunday morning, before midday, in the kitchen, in front of my parents, _on my birthday_?" she said to the tabletop exasperatedly. "Do you two have no shame?"

Maddie and I shared a glance.

"Nope," she said.

"We can move it to the living room if you'd prefer?" I suggested.

"Or the spare room?"

"My flat would suit me fine-"

"No." Lily sat up and glared at me. "Remember the deal, James? You flirt with my mates, I flirt with yours. Now scram, before I decide to give Murph a call."

"Didn't know women were your thing-"

"_Ryan_, you chizpurfle."

Mum made a slight noise in the back of her throat, and Al choked for a second time on his juice.

"I think you're right, Lil, time for me to go," I said loudly, getting to my feet. "Thanks for breakfast, Mum. See you round, Al. I'd better not see _you_ round, Lily, until exams are over."

"Oh, come on, at _least_ give me Easter off," Lily said, rolling her eyes. "It's hardly as though you did any work at school-"

"Check out the exam results, young Lillian, they will tell you differently." I smirked. "Frederick. Tuesday?"

"Tuesday," he repeated with a nod, confirming our next night out.

I paused on my way out of the kitchen, as I came face-to-face with Dad.

"Look after yourself," he said after a moment.

I nodded before leaving the house.

Once the front door was shut, I leaned against it and let out the deep breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding.

That had been a close shave.


	3. three

"-and then you have an interview with _Witch Weekly_ next week Thursday-"

I let my head fall onto the kitchen table.

"James!" Brigid swatted me round the back of the head. "That magazine has a big readership-"

"And they're all clearly _so_ interested in Quidditch-"

"Of course they're not, they're interested in you, which is why you're doing the interview and not Adelheid." She paused. "Why, Jimmy, I thought you _liked_ the female attention?"

I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was smirking. I wouldn't have put it past her to have organised this damn interview just to annoy me.

"Look, it's not that hard, Jim. They just want to know mundane things like what you look for in a girl and what your favourite food is. Just reel off a load of that wishy washy bollocks you know they lap up and it'll be fine."

I sat up and raised an eyebrow.

"Are you _advising_ me to _lie_ in an interview?" I said incredulously.

"With _Witch Weekly_, anything goes," she said absent-mindedly, while flicking through her notes. "And that's you done up until pre-season starts – which is two weeks today, don't forget." She brandished her quill at me. "You had far more requests for various engagements but there aren't enough hours in the day for me to juggle those about, so you're getting off practically scot-free there." She slid a roll of parchment across the table towards me. "That's the calendar for the next fortnight. Put it on a wall somewhere, as I'm quite sure you don't remember a word of what I've just told you."

"Nope," I replied cheerily, taking the parchment and unravelling it. "_Witch_ bloody _Weekly_..." I shook my head in disbelief. "Dad will disown me if he finds out you've got me doing an interview with them."

"He'll live," she said brightly. "As will you."

"I don't know why you're sounding so chirpy; you're coming with me."

"I know I am. It's the only way I can be sure that _you'll_ go, and stay for the duration of the interview. I know what you're like."

I scowled.

"You make me sound like a slacker-"

"Fancy that." She shoved her notes into her bag and flashed a smile at me. "Not enjoying the media side of things is perfectly fine, you know. You're a Quidditch player; your job is to fly around with a red ball, not to spend your time doing interviews. That's what I'm here for. Everyone else I represent is the same." She smiled again and rested her head in her hands. "I can't stay long. I've got a meeting with Aisling in about twenty minutes."

Ah, Aisling Quigley. The Ballycastle Bats Chaser with those _fantastic_ legs.

Brigid massaged her temples with the tips of her fingers. I dragged my thoughts away from Quiggers and her legs, and back to my kitchen.

"You look knackered." I frowned and slouched back in my chair. "When was the last time you had a rest?"

She smiled wryly.

"Agents don't get a rest, Jimmy. I'm fine, once pre-season's started I'll have a bit less on my plate."

"You should come out tonight." I nudged her leg under the table.

"I really shouldn't," she said, sitting upright. "Your mum's doing an interview with Della tomorrow morning that I need to be there for-"

I pulled a face.

"Mum won't mind you being slightly worse for wear," I said. "Anyway, Della's coming out, so you can't use that as an excuse."

"Who else is going?"

"Ryan, Klaus, Alfie, Roxie, Louis, Lucy, Freddie…"

She pursed her lips into a thin line.

"And is Fred taking his new girl with him?" she said, sounding disgruntled.

I shrugged.

"Should it matter?" I said. "Just wear the nicest thing you have in your wardrobe, make sure he notices you."

"What do you think I did on Saturday?" she replied waspishly.

I bit my lip. I wasn't really sure what to say next.

"She's called Angeline, you know," I said, hoping this would raise a smile.

"Oh, they're on a first name basis already, how _fantastic_." She scowled.

"Why..." I hesitated. "Why don't you just _tell_ him how you feel?"

She laughed hollowly.

"James, he's pulled a part Veela, I really fail to see how I have a chance here."

"I've told you, he's interested-"

"If he was interested he wouldn't have pulled the bint in the first place!" A solitary tear rolled down her cheek, but she wiped it away fiercely with the back of her hand.

I shifted in my seat, feeling slightly awkward. I'd never been any good at comforting Brigid when she was upset. Back at Hogwarts, it had always been Freddie who had hugged her, comforted her, returned the smile to her face. I'd been the one who ran down to the kitchens to get her favourite chocolate cake, or who hexed the person who'd upset her in the first place. I did the light relief, but it was always Freddie who had known what to say to cheer her up. But this time he was the cause of the problem, so it was down to me to comfort her, and I didn't have a clue what to say to make things better.

I reached forwards across the table and took her hand, squeezing it lightly.

"Is there anything I can do?"

She shook her head and gave a slight smile.

"Don't worry about me, I'm fine," she said thickly. "I'm just being daft-"

"No, you're not," I cut in. "The only way you're being daft is by _thinking_ you're being daft for getting upset about it."

She frowned.

"I don't think that makes sense..."

"Stop criticising my attempts at being sympathetic!" I complained.

Her smile widened.

"Atta girl," I said, squeezing her hand again.

She got to her feet. "I should be going," she said. "I'll see you on Thursday – _Which Broomstick? _interview," she added, seeing my perplexed look. "See, I just _knew_ you'd forget. Honestly, what would you do without me?"

"Not do the damn interviews," I grumbled. I was only partly lying. The _Which Broomstick? _interview wouldn't be so bad. The _Witch Weekly_ one just took the piss. "Give my love to Quiggy."

She nodded and prepared to Disapparate.

"Brie," I called out. She stopped, and turned back to face me. "Keep your chin up, darl," I said, smiling at her.

She returned a weaker smile, before vanishing with a loud _crack_.

* * *

><p>"Brigid not coming?"<p>

Roxanne reached across me to grab a Firewhisky from the table, but I smacked her hand away.

"Get your own booze," I moaned. "No, she's avoiding your brother, funnily enough. And what the _hell_ has happened to your hair?"

She scowled and raised her hand to it subconsciously. It was massive and in corkscrew curls.

"It's the fashion," she said, sounding disgruntled. "Not that you'd know about that."

"What era do you think this is, the seventies?"

She was prevented from replying by Lucy squealing as she joined us in the kitchen.

"Roxie, I love your hair!" she cried.

Roxie shot me a smug smile. I scowled and left the kitchen to find more blokes. Freddie and Louis were lounging on my sofa, watching the highlights of the exhibition match.

Freddie and Louis were proof that the Weasley gene could be overridden. If it wasn't for the incessant media coverage we received, most people would have found it hard to pinpoint them as Weasleys at all.

Louis had the incredibly pale skin of the rest of the family, but not the freckles that came with it. His colouring was down to Aunt Fleur's genes and he, like Victoire and Dominique had the white-blond hair that was characteristic of Veela descendents. Freddie, meanwhile, had Aunt Angelina's dark hair and skin, like Roxanne. The only other non-ginger in the family was Al, who was Dad's double. Although I also had black hair, it had a ginger tint in it, thanks to Mum.

"Where're we going, Jim?" Freddie asked, looking up when I joined them.

"I was thinking the Drunken Hinkypunk," I said, referring to the nightclub in Diagon Alley, which had become our regular haunt.

Freddie smirked. "You just want to hook up with Leggy Allegra again."

"Can you blame him?" Louis said. "She's-"

Sadly, his thoughts on Allegra were interrupted by the arrival of the blonde bombshell that was Adelheid Brand, granddaughter of the legendary Rudolf and my fellow Chaser for the Falcons. With her was her cousin Klaus, one of our Seekers.

"I've brought some mead," she said in her usual loud, brash voice, which only had a trace of a German accent, "and some brandy."

"Nice to see you too, Della," Freddie said, grinning at her enthusiasm for alcohol. "Merlin's beard..." He leaned forwards and picked up one of the bottles of mead that she had placed on the coffee table. "This is that Heidelberg stuff, that's bloody wicked!"

"You don't have to tell me that," she said, shrugging off her coat. "James, Alfie, Brigid and I got absolutely wasted on that stuff after we won the other week."

His mouth gaped.

"_Brigid_? She hardly ever gets that drunk-"

"And for good reason," Klaus said dryly. "It was all we could do to keep her fully clothed." He shot me a sly wink as Freddie's cheeks coloured slightly. "No, it's the brandy you want to try, that stuff is pure nectar. Evening, ladies," he added smoothly as Roxie and Lucy joined us. Lucy's cheeks flushed red.

"Is Brigid coming out tonight?" Della asked loudly, popping the cap of a mead bottle.

"Nope," I replied, helping myself to a bottle of mead. "She says she's not going to your interview hungover."

"That's a load of rubbish. I'm out, aren't I?" Della rolled her eyes. "Besides, it's only your mother; Merlin knows how many times she's interviewed you when you've been off your trolley."

"Actually, Mum doesn't interview me," I said. "She always gets someone else to do it instead. Says she wouldn't do a good job of it, and I wouldn't give her the honest answers anyway."

I felt something nudge my foot and looked down. I frowned when I saw the small purple ball of fuzz that was blinking as it looked up at me.

"Hello, Cordelia," I said, crouching down. I held out a hand to Cordelia, who hopped into it, and then stood up again. "Where've you been , hmm? Under my bed eating the dust, I expect. Want some mead?" I held the bottle up to her. She sniffed it, then poked out her long tongue and licked the top. "You liked that, hmm? I'll put some in your bowl for you." I crossed the room to her cage and poured some of the mead into her water bowl. I set her down by it and she sat in it, drinking away contentedly.

"What is it with you and sitting in the damn bowl?" I sighed, shaking my head at my pet's foolishness.

"Your pygmy puff is alcoholic," Della said.

"Like owner, like pet," Klaus added with a shrug.

"She's not alcoholic!" I protested. "She just enjoys the finer things in life. Her favourite drink is red currant rum, but she doesn't say no to a spot of Single Malt whisky."

"Or mead by the looks of things," Roxie chipped in. "See, this is why Aunt Ginny only let you have a pygmy puff when you went to Hogwarts. Imagine you trying to look after an owl or a cat."

"He still managed to kill two pygmy puffs while we were at Hogwarts," Freddie said.

"Camilla's death was a tragic accident," I defended myself.

Freddie snorted.

"Yeah, you dropped your school bag on her."

"It was an accident, and it was tragic," I said. "It was by no means my carelessness-"

"Unless you consider throwing your bag on your bed without checking for Camilla first to be carelessness, which personally, I would."

I scowled at him.

"Okay, so maybe there was a small amount of carelessness there, but Cassandra's death was purely down to natural causes-"

"She ate your broomstick polish!"

"She died of stomach failure, Aunt Audrey examined her-"

"Yeah, stomach failure from digesting the polish!" Freddie rolled his eyes insensitively. "Besides, Aunt Audrey is a Healer, not a Vet. Face it, you murdered them both in cold blood."

"For it to be murder it has to be premeditated," I pointed out in my defence. "Okay. I'll admit I can be a bit careless sometimes, but-"

Freddie snorted; Roxie and Lucy laughed.

"Thanks for the support," I said, rolling my eyes.

The bullying was cut short by the arrival of Ryan, with our first choice Keeper Alfred Keitch.

"Just seen the Bats in the Leaky," Ryan said, as he shrugged off his coat. "Looks like they're headed to the Hinky later. The Lynches didn't look too happy to see us. I think they're after your blood, Junior."

Junior was my nickname amongst the team. When I'd first signed up, I'd been eighteen and the youngest player in the squad, albeit only by two years. Even though Roxie had since joined us, the nickname had stuck.

"What've you done this time?" Della asked, smirking slightly at my misfortune. Sympathy from Adelheid was often hard to come by.

"Dumped their sister," Ryan chipped in, helping himself to the killer mead.

"I didn't _dump_ her, we were never together-"

"You dumped _Cassie Lynch_?"

Klaus stared at me.

"I didn't dump her," I repeated. "I just ended the arrangement there was between us when she decided to take it a step further."

Alfie rolled his eyes.

"James, she was hardly asking for _marriage_," he said.

"You ought to know by now that anything more than a quick shag might as well be marriage to James," Roxie said dryly, nabbing one of Della's brandy bottles.

"But..." Klaus looked incredulous. "Have you seen her _legs_?"

"Leggy Allegra's got a cracking set of pins and a better view of commitment, it's a no-brainer," I said, and swigged the last of my mead.

"Sometimes," Lucy said dryly, "I wonder whether one of us was adopted, because there is no _way_ we come from the same family."

The girl really had a way with words.

* * *

><p>"I'd watch out for Eoin and Feargus if I were you. You're not exactly their favourite person right now."<p>

Aisling Quigley sat down on the bar stool next to mine.

"I've never been their favourite person," I replied, as my eyes swung from the lovely sight of Allegra dancing to the hugely less appealing Lynch brothers, who were on the other side of the room. I was more than happy to keep them there.

"That was before you broke their little sister's heart," Aisling said, spinning round to face the bar. "Firewhisky, please," she said to the barman, before turning back to me. "If they didn't think it would get them suspended from the Quidditch League they'd probably be pummelling you to a pulp right now."

I snorted.

"I could hold my own."

"Really?" She raised an eyebrow. "You, against two huge Beaters?"

I shrugged.

"Well, with a bit of help," I said, gesturing towards Ryan and Alfie, both of whom were fairly burly.

"I'd rather not put that to the test," Aisling said. "For a Falcon you're not so bad, Junior, but I wouldn't want to see you take them on. Just watch out for them when we play you is all I can say. They'll have free licence to swing as much flying iron at you as they want then."

"I'll have the two best Beaters in the league protecting me, Quiggs, I'll be fine." I gave a slight grin. "Though it's nice of you to care about my wellbeing..."

"More like the wellbeing of all those thousands of girls who idolise you and your gorgeous face." She raised a hand and pinched my cheek, but I slapped her hand away.

"Gerroff!" I moaned, as she let out a laugh which would rival Della's for volume.

"So, who's tonight's target?" she asked, taking a large gulp of Firewhisky.

"Well after that assault, not you..."

"I plead innocence. If that was assault I dread to think what some of your pulls could be charged with. Besides, if I thought you were after me I'd be running out that door right now."

"How rude!" I pouted.

"Not a masculine look, Potter," she advised.

I dropped the pout.

"Who said I was even going for a girl this time?" I asked.

"You're _James Potter_. It would be most uncharacteristic if you _weren't_ going for somebody. That redhead just there, in the green, she's the one you had on New Years', isn't she? The one with legs to Antarctica?"

"Yeah, that's her," I said, keeping my eyes on the girl in question. "Allegra Fawcett. Al's year at Hogwarts."

Aisling nodded in recognition.

"I remember her now. She was a 'Claw. Three years below me. Bloody annoying voice, if I remember rightly."

"Yeah, but her _legs_!" I moaned.

"You have a _fetish_," she said, sounding disgusted. "Where's Brie, anyway? Merlin knows I need somebody who can hold a decent conversation."

"Not here. What's wrong with Della?"

"Foghorn Della? My ears can't cope with her voice."

"Roxie?"

"She's hardly better than you; I swear she was raised as a bloke."

"Touché. Lucy?"

"She'll gush about bloody Klaus all night. I'm cool, thanks. That my lot?"

"'Fraid so. We tried to get Brie out, but she turned us down – and there you have her reason."

Freddie had just made a move on one of Allegra's mates.

Aisling tutted.

"That boy won't know what he's got until it's too late if he's not careful," she said, before finishing her Firewhisky. "Fool thinks he's making her jealous. He doesn't see he's just driving her away..." She sighed. "_Men_..." She paused and a sly grin appeared on her face. "Think the guy just down the bar from you is a Quidditch fan?"

_Women_.


	4. four

As was usual on Saturdays, though last week had been the exception necessary to prove the rule, Mum woke me at eight.

"How was your _Which Broomstick?_ interview?" she asked as she bustled round the kitchen, restocking my food cupboards and cooking eggs and bacon at the same time.

I shrugged nonchalantly.

"They wanted my opinion on the Nimbus 6000," I said.

She frowned.

"You fly a Firebolt Series Six."

"I test-rode the Nimbus before doing the interview."

"And?"

"You'll have to read the interview," I said cheekily, then had to duck the saucepan she playfully swung in my direction. "Okay, okay! It's pretty damn good actually. Nought to two hundred in ten, same as Fiona, but it has better balance. The steering seems to come more naturally when I'm using Fiona though, but that might just be because I've had her a couple of years. I was only on the Nimbus for half an hour."

"The Harpies are thinking of ordering a batch," Mum said, flipping the bacon with her wand.

"Of Nimbuses?" She nodded. "Not a bad shout ... I'd prefer to fly the broom I know I get on with though, even if the team weren't willing to supply me with a free one. I've flown Firebolts as long as I can remember. My first one was Dad's old original, remember? Whereas Roxie, she's been on Cleansweeps all her life, and that Nineteen isn't bad. Murph prefers the Nimbuses. Della and Klaus fly German makes, and Alfie and Julia wouldn't dream of flying anything other than Comets, which is hardly surprising given that their families founded the company."

"Ordering a batch of Firebolts didn't do the Irish team much harm," she pointed out.

"Sinead said she preferred her Nimbus. Not because it was better; the Firebolt was way ahead of its time back then, but because of the _feel_ of her Nimbus. It felt right. I know what she means. Fiona _feels_ right, it's like she knows what I'm thinking. And it didn't take long to become that comfortable flying her. It was the same with Faith, and Freya before her."

Mum shook her head.

"I'm not sure which is more worrying, the fact that you name your broomsticks or the way you refer to them as if they were people."

"Ryan does the same," I pointed out. "He has Nadine, and he had Naomi before her. See, this is why you never played for England, Mum."

I ducked to avoid the saucepan again.

"Watch the lip, Potter, or I won't cook you Saturday breakfast again," she said threateningly.

Like most traditions, ours had started with a spur-of-the-moment idea. It had been the day of my first ever match for the Falcons, and Mum, being Mum, had predicted accurately that I would be absolutely terrified, so she'd turned up at eight to cook me breakfast. Since then, we'd had breakfast together almost every Saturday, even if I didn't have a match, or if we were playing on a Friday or Sunday – which, admittedly, didn't happen often.

"How was your interview with Della?" I asked as she began to dish up breakfast.

"Nightmare," she said. "Della was still pissed as a fart. It was an hour before we could get anything sensible out of her. Something to do with Heidelberg mead apparently. And Brigid was a moping wreck. Something to do with Freddie pulling on Tuesday night."

I frowned.

"What idiot told her about that?"

"Della when still drunk, by the sounds of it. Honestly, you can tell that boy was raised by George and Angelina, he hasn't a _clue_ when it comes to women."

I knew Mum wasn't making a jibe at Aunt Angelina. She and Mum actually got on really well, but she'd never been one to talk about feelings and shit and it showed with both Freddie and Roxie, who was, as Aisling had observed, very boyish in her mannerisms.

"Mind, you're not much better..." Mum added.

"I resent that remark," I said, glaring at her back. "If I was in Freddie's position – you know, quite fancying a rather fine specimen of a woman who's madly in love with me – I wouldn't be hesitating to hook up with her. It's not even as though Freddie's commitment-phobic, he just wants to string it out a bit, wind her up."

"He's getting worse, though," Mum observed, handing me a plate loaded with food. "Does he honestly expect her to wait around for him? If he's not careful he'll just drive her away, and then who'll be looking stupid?"

I shrugged.

"I'd tell him this, but we don't really chat about relationships. It's not a manly thing to do."

"Well then you're a fool." She sat opposite me with her own breakfast. "Surely Brie means more to you than sounding 'manly'? Besides, the manliest men are the ones that can talk about their feelings."

"Is that true, or do you just tell Albus that to make him feel better?"

She glared at me.

"Sometimes I wonder whether I _did_ raise you, or whether you grew up with Fred or Hugo."

"This is child abuse," I complained.

"I'll show you child abuse," she muttered. "Honestly, James, would it _kill_ you to be a _little_ more considerate of people's feelings?" She paused a moment and looked at me over her cup of tea. "If only you and your dad would just _talk_ more-"

"We talk just fine, thank you," I said flatly, turning my concentration to my eggs and bacon.

"Maybe you should come for dinner tomorrow-"

"Or maybe not. Heard from Lily yet?"

She sighed sadly. "You're both hopeless..." she said morosely. "No, I haven't, which can only be a good thing. She only writes when she's upset or needs something these days. I assume you haven't either?"

I shook my head.

"She's back at the end of January, isn't she? For Grandma's birthday?"

Mum nodded.

"Who took her back to school on Sunday anyway?"

"I did," she replied. "Took the whole lot of them, the fool I am. Lily tried to forget her school books as usual, but we got there in the end. She told me to remind you that her tournie is on the fifteenth of March, which is a Sunday so you shouldn't have a match-"

"Mum," I said, "I'm the wrong person to be telling this. Tell Brie. I'll have forgotten by next week, let alone March."

Her response was interrupted by the owl delivering the _Daily Prophet_.

"Della's interview should be in this one," she said, as I paid the owl.

I sat down and flipped over to the sports pages. Sure enough, a couple of pages in I found an article entitled "Adelheid Brand on dating, falcons and James Potter", accompanied with a large photo of her which grinned at me.

"I'm glad you put that comma there. But really, did you need to put me in the headline?"

She shrugged.

"You're hot news right now," she said. "People will read anything you're mentioned in. The bit about you is worth reading. The whole thing is, actually, but I know what you're like; you'll only read the bit about you."

"You make it sound like that's a bad thing," I said sorrowfully.

Mum left shortly afterwards, and I decided to read the article. I soon got bored however, and skipped to the bit about me, slightly annoyed to be proving her right as usual.

"'_Quidditch pundits all round the world have called the Falcons' Chaser attack the best in the world. In light of these observations, can you tell us what it's like to work with your fellow Chasers and whether you feel this is accurate?'"_

I skipped through her comments on Ryan to find the bit about me.

"'_James ... is an interesting one. He has talent, there's no doubt about that. I mean, look at his pedigree; a father who rivalled Viktor Krum in terms of flying ability and a mother who played Chaser for the Harpies for years. There's no doubting that he's inherited both of your Quidditch talent. And at times it shows. At times, he can be the best Chaser in the world. But I don't think he quite understands just how good he can be. I almost think he wastes his talent to some extent. I know that sounds incredible; he seems amazing to the average watcher. But when I see him in training, I see so much more than he shows in matches, hard as that is to believe. He just doesn't see the player that he could be, if only he didn't squander so much of his talent. But the exciting thing is that he's young – he's still only twenty-one – so he has a good twenty years or so of Quidditch left in him. As he matures, he'll become a better player, and someday he'll be up there with the best who ever played. I think he should be playing for England in the World Cup this summer. I know that as a German player, I would fear an English team with James in it much more than one without him._

"'_In terms of our dynamic as a trio, I think I bring the experience and seniority – I certain__ly keep the other two grounded __– Murph [Murphy] brings the speed and strength, and Junior [Potter] brings that youthful exuberance and unpredictability that make him so formidable. And we just _work_ together. Being called the best attack in the world is a huge compliment, especially given other attacks like the Ballycastle Bats, the Vratsa Vultures and the Heidelberg Harriers – not to mention the international attacks. Bulgaria, Peru and Ireland, for example, are incredibly talented. But I'm not letting it go to my head. I'm just concentrating on my game; on the Falcons' season first and foremost, but also on getting into the World Cup squad, along with keeping Murph and Junior well and truly grounded!'"_

I scowled and threw the paper across the room. I wished I hadn't read it. Another comparison to Mum and Dad was the last thing I wanted, even if Della had hinted that I was better than them both put together.

And how could she think that I didn't give the game my all? I played my heart out for the Falcons every time I pulled the kit on. And I was hardly big-headed either, though she'd hinted at that too.

Suddenly feeling restless, I got up and fed Cordelia, who chirped at me in delight before sitting in her food bowl to eat.

"Bloody idiot," I muttered. Even my pets were stupid.

I sighed heavily, before picking up my house phone. I dialled the second speed dial and put the phone to my ear.

It was answered on the third ring.

"Brigid Murphy, sports agent, how can I help?"

"It's your favourite client," I said.

"You're not Cato Bagman," came the reply.

"Oi, quit your googly-eyed obsession with Bagman, Mini Murph. It's not healthy. I need a night out and so do you."

"You've had two nights out this week, do you really need a third? Besides, Leggy Ally must be fed up with you by now, surely?"

"I always need a third night out, Brie," I replied. "And Allegra could never get fed up with James Potter. Come on, it'll be fun! We could go to the Tavern?"

The Witch's Tavern was a nightclub not far from the Leaky – but on the muggle side. We'd come across it a couple of years ago when on a pub crawl round muggle London, and had decided that a muggle nightclub with that name was just crying out for us to go in.

"James, remember what happened last time you went to the Tav?"

"It wasn't that bad-"

"She nearly fell over your goddamn broomstick! What a fine way to break the Statute. Not a good idea, Jimmy."

"Oh, come on Brie, lighten up! Look, Freddie's less likely to pull if we go to the Tav."

There was a pause.

"I'll be at yours at seven. I'll bring the Firewhisky. You can ring Freddie, Roxie and Lu. I'll ring Ryan and Della-"

"No!" I interrupted. "I – just me, you and Freddie. Like old times."

Given that I wanted to escape Della, a night out with her was _not _what I fancied.

"Okay," she agreed. "Can Ryan come though?"

"I can't believe you _want_ to go on a night out with your brother," I said. "Roxie hates doing it, and I can't see Lil jumping at the opportunity of having a night out with me."

"Ryan isn't you or Freddie though, is he?" she said sweetly.

"I hate you."

"Find another agent then. See you at seven!"

The line went dead.

I scowled again. _Bloody women._

* * *

><p>"James, can I ask you something?"<p>

Ryan entered the kitchen and shut the door quietly behind him.

I frowned. Needing to talk to me about something wasn't like Ryan.

"Sure," I said, shrugging and pushing a bottle of Firewhisky across the kitchen table to him. He stopped it and popped the cap.

"Did you read your mum's interview with Della?" he asked.

"The bit about me, yes. Nothing else though. Why?"

"So, you didn't read the bit where she said she thinks blokes don't find her attractive?"

I frowned.

"_What_?"

"She said that she struggles to find dates, that she's not the type of girl that guys want."

"Well," I said, "she's hot, but she's got a voice like a foghorn and muscles that would intimidate any guy-"

"Would you date her?" he interrupted.

"Of course I wouldn't! I don't see her in that way at all. She's like a sister-"

"Or is it because she's not your type of chick?"

"Look, I – why are you even bothered about this, Murph?"

"Look," Ryan said, looking a bit flustered, "we always pull girls, right? At Quidditch parties, in the pub, at the Hinky... They're interested in us, because we play Quidditch. But Della doesn't _get_ that. Neither does Roxy, to be honest. Or Aisling, or-"

"What's your point, Murph?" I raised an eyebrow. "Why is this bothering you?"

"Just because you don't care about other people's emotions, Jim, doesn't mean I don't," he said, but he was grinning slightly. "I just – it's unfair, don't you think? I mean, she's a cracking girl, any guy would be lucky to date her-"

"What's your plan, make a nationwide broadcast telling people about how hard it is to be a female Quidditch player and asking for sympathy from blokes? Or getting one of your mates to date her?"

"I wouldn't wish that on anyone," he replied.

"Date her yourself if you're that bothered about her feelings, Murph," I rolled my eyes.

"Na, she wouldn't be interested."

He was trying to sound casual, but I could hear a hint of emotion in his voice. Every now and again my emotional depth surprised even me.

"Merlin's left bollock, you _like_ the girl!"

His cheeks tinged with pink.

"No, I just-"

"Why the hell don't you do something then?" I asked.

He snorted.

"What, and then ruin the team when it all goes tits up? I'm fine, thanks." He paused for a moment. "You know, I had mixed feelings when she started getting all those offers after the exhibition match. I mean, if she moved club then I'd barely see her ... but, at least then..."

"You could go for it," I finished. "Why didn't _you_ move then? Not that I want you to, but..."

"I'd never leave the Falcons," he said. "Even if Mum moved on. The Falcons gave me a chance. I wouldn't be here if not for them. It wasn't just cause Mum's the manager, it was the entire coaching team, and I owe it to them. Not to mention the fans. I wouldn't even move if the Kestrels gave me an offer."

The Kenmare Kestrels were Ryan's local team; he'd supported them growing up, and even now backed them after the Falcons.

"You know," I said after a pause, "you and Brie are a right pair. Neither of you have the balls to take a chance-"

"Brie's got good reason." He scowled.

He wasn't keen on Freddie. He used to like him, but since he'd started playing the field, Ryan had gone off him and thought Brigid could do better. To be fair, given Freddie's current behaviour, she probably could.

"And so have I," he continued. "I've told you, I'm not risking the dynamics of the team, not for a girl."

"I admire your thinking, Murph." I clapped him on the shoulder. "Now, with a bit of luck, Freddie and Brie will be lip locked on my sofa..."

It wasn't to be. Instead when I opened the kitchen door, I saw Freddie draped across the sofa and Brigid curled in one of the chairs. They were both drinking Firewhisky and watching the television. They'd managed to find a replay of the 2002 World Cup final, between Ireland and Bulgaria, which had been a repeat of the 1994 Cup. The commentator's voice was booming out of the speakers.

"Moran, Troy, Mullet, back to Troy, Moran – oh,Volkov's aimed a Bludger at her face, and there's a time out while Moran gets her nose seen to, there's blood everywhere. That could well be broken..."

"Mum's still got the scar from that," Brigid said offhandedly, as the cameras panned round to show a much younger Sinead landing on the ground, blood everywhere, and the Mediwizards running onto the pitch to treat her. "She said she chose to keep it, said she was hardly a Quidditch player without any bumps or scrapes."

I pulled a face.

"I'm fine without any, thanks."

"No, don't you worry, Jimmy, we couldn't possibly have your beautiful face damaged by a nasty little scar, could we?"

Brigid winked at me and I returned it with a rude hand gesture.

"How rude," she said delicately, before downing the last of her Firewhisky and setting the empty bottle on the coffee table. She got to her feet and smoothed down her dress. "Anyway, we'd better get going before we all get trashed here or we'll be turned away from everywhere. And remember, James," she added, pointing at me, "no pulling any Muggles tonight."

"You say that as though I pick up a girl every time I'm out," I grumbled.

She raised an eyebrow.

"That's because you do. Man slag." She shot me a cheeky grin.

Freddie snickered and knocked his bottle over, spilling Firewhisky over my carpet.

I really needed to trade my mates in for better versions.

* * *

><p>"Brie's not looking bad tonight, is she?"<p>

Freddie had joined me by the bar but his eyes were on Brigid, who was chatting to a group of guys not far from us. Not far away, Ryan was talking to a couple of Kenmare Kestrel players we'd bumped into earlier, but he had half an eye on his sister.

"She always looks good," I pointed out.

"Yeah, but tonight she's looking _extra_ good. Has she done something different with her hair or something?"

I rolled my eyes.

"You should tell her you think she looks good."

He shook his head.

"Na, she's getting enough attention, I doubt she'd be bothered with what I think."

I resisted the urge to slap my hand to my forehead at his idiocy.

He suddenly let out a low whistle.

"Check out the hottie at two o'clock," he said.

I turned my head in the direction he'd indicated and saw a tall blonde girl in a very short dress, chatting to another girl while shooting looks in our direction.

"She seems interested..."

"Yeah, eyes back on Mini Murph, Freddie," I said and turned back to the bar, starting slightly as I realised someone was standing on the other side of me.

"Evening, Keily," I said.

"Alright, Potter?"

Brianna Keily was the Kestrels' Seeker and another Irish national player, who was also managed by Brigid.

"Want a drink?" she asked.

"I'll buy; it's fine," I said. "How many of you are out tonight then?"

"Oh, the whole squad," she replied, while trying to get the attention of one of the bar staff. "Making the most of our last week of freedom."

I grimaced. Pre-season started in nine days for all teams.

"Not that any of us are really in a fit shape for training," she continued. "You guys must be fighting fit after your exhibition match. The rest of us haven't played since September."

I snorted slightly.

"You have no idea how much alcohol has been consumed by the lot of us since that match," I said. "We've got a fair few big drinkers in our squad. Trust me, it's not looking too good right now."

She gave a slight laugh.

"All the better for the rest of us then, we need some kind of advantage over you to get us all back on a level pegging. Any reason you picked the Tav for tonight?"

"Quieter than the Hinky, isn't it?" I said. "Slight chance of being left to your own devices, which is nice every once in a while. Same for you?"

"That, and the exchange rate favours Muggle money at the moment," she replied. "Where's Weasley gone, anyway? I wanted to ask him about the Decoy Detonators."

Just then, she got the attention of a barman, but I was busy looking for Freddie, who was no longer next to me. He wasn't with Brigid either, which meant that he could only be chatting up some chick. I sighed with annoyance and turned back to Brianna, who thrust a drink into my chest – she was a good half a foot shorter than me.

"It's on me," she insisted. "Consider it a victory drink, three weeks late. Now, come and have a chat with the team. Connors wants tips on a Porskoff Ploy..."

Heading back to the bar, half an hour or so later, I saw the girl who'd been chatting with the blonde Freddie'd noticed earlier, sitting by herself on one of the bar stools. I was surprised I hadn't noticed her earlier. She was very good-looking, with thick, curly black hair and quite a brown complexion. She had damn nice legs too ... clearly I was a sucker for the leggy type.

"What's a pretty thing like you sitting by yourself for?" I asked, taking the stool next to her.

"Friend-supervising," she said, nodding towards the dance floor. I turned to follow her gaze and saw Freddie with her blonde friend. I inwardly cursed him.

"No need to worry, that's my cousin. He'll more or less behave," I said, turning back to the girl.

"And, of course, the word of a total stranger is going to reassure me about my friend's safety," she said dryly, and drained her glass.

"Can I get you a drink?" I asked her.

"I'm fine, thanks," she replied lazily.

"No, really, let me buy you a drink."

She raised an eyebrow at me.

"I have expensive taste," she said.

"No matter. I've got the money."

"Really, I can buy my own drinks-"

"Oh, come on. One drink. It won't harm you."

"You're persistent." She looked slightly amused.

"Only with the really good-looking ones."

She rolled her eyes.

"How corny..."

"But true. I didn't quite catch your name..."

"That's because I didn't tell you it," she drawled.

I smirked a little at her hard-to-get attitude.

"What is it then, may I ask?" I said.

She tutted and looked annoyed.

"Carlotta," she said.

"Weird name. Is it foreign?"

She nodded. "Spanish."

"Are you Spanish then?"

"My mother is."

_Ah_. So that explained the slightly exotic looks.

"I'm James," I supplied.

"Such a common name..."

"Yeah, named after my dead grandfather. Sorry if it offends you."

She winced slightly. I hid another smirk, having finally got some emotion out of her.

"But it's fine," I continued, "I'll let you off if you let me buy you a drink."

She sighed.

"Fine-"

I tuned her out as Brigid appeared in front of me.

"I'm gonna go now," she said, looking downcast.

"What?" I frowned. "But you've hardly been here. Don't go yet! What about those guys you were chatting to?"

She shook her head.

"I don't want to stay any longer, Jimmy." She looked close to tears. I saw her glance at Freddie, and made a mental note to hex him next time I saw him.

"Oh, Brie, he's a tosser, just ignore it-"

She shook her head again. I sighed.

"Do you want me to take you home?" I asked her gently.

"Ryan's taking me," she replied softly. "Thanks anyway. You stay, have fun, you wanted a night out anyway. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

"But Brie-"

Before I could say any more, she turned away and left through the crowd. I sighed in aggravation.

"Unrequited love?"

"More like he's playing hard-to-get when he doesn't need to," I replied, turning back to Carlotta. "So, that drink-"

"Will she be okay?" she interrupted. "Should I take Evie home?"

I suddenly really liked this girl.

"It'll be fine. It's their battle to fight. He's just being a plank. Now, this drink-"

She smiled slightly.

"You are _ridiculously_ persistent," she said. "It's fine, I'll get them. Oi, Matt!" she turned to one of the barmen. "Two double vodka and cokes, dock them off my wage."

"Wha-"

"I work here," she supplied. "Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday."

"You said you had expensive taste," I said as the barman slid two drinks across the counter to us. "I don't call this particularly expensive."

She shrugged.

"I was testing your willingness to buy me a drink. Someone who isn't willing to buy me something slightly more expensive isn't worth my time, I figure."

"You're hard to please," I told her.

"Yeah, but it gets rid of the lousy ones," she pointed out.

"Does that mean I'm not lousy?" I smirked slightly.

"Don't get too excited just yet."

Her mate interrupted before I could reply.

"You alright, Evie?" Carlotta asked.

"I'm going back to Freddie's," she giggled drunkenly, pointing at him. He was a few feet behind waiting for her. I groaned inwardly and raised an eyebrow at him. He winked back at me.

"You sure you're going to be okay?" Carlotta asked.

"I'll be fine, don't worry about me. I'll ring you tomorrow morning. You stay here and have fun..." She tailed off, casting her eyes over me, and giggled again.

"Don't mind if I do," Carlotta replied. "Look after yourself, Evie. I don't fancy having to chase around the whole of London for you tomorrow morning."

"I'll be fine." She smiled and headed back to Freddie, gave me another wink before taking her hand and leading her out.

"Right then."

Carlotta's voice drew my attention back to her.

"As I'm no longer on babysitting duty, we can stop all this pussyfooting it around," she said. "Where do you live?"

I stared at her incredulously.

"Just round the corner, literally about two minutes..."

"Closer than me then. Drink up, we're going."

She got to her feet.

"_What_?"

She shrugged.

"Unless you want to stay here, but I don't see much point in that when your eventual aim is to get me back to your place. I'm hardly going to sit here for the next hour, pissing around and playing hard to get, when we both know that however it plays out, we're going to end up at yours."

I blinked.

Damn, this girl was _good_.

"Sounds good to me," I said, downing my drink, as she'd already done and setting the glass on the bar. I got up from the stool as she turned to leave, reaching forwards to take her hand so as not to lose her in the crowd.

Outside she started to shiver. It was only January and she'd clearly not brought a coat.

"I normally bring a jacket out," she said, as though reading my mind, "but Evie rushed me tonight and I forgot."

"You can have my shirt if you want," I offered.

She raised an eyebrow.

"And to think they say chivalry is dead," she said. "You surprise me. You were the last person I'd have expected to chivalry from. I'm fine, really, you'll freeze without it."

I cursed us both that she was a Muggle. If she were a witch one of us could have cast a Heating spell to keep her warm. I let go of her hand and wrapped my arm round her shoulders in an attempt to warm her up.

"You'd better not have been lying when you said your place was close," she said, as we rounded the corner.

I laughed.

"I was telling the honest truth. Look, it's just here." I steered her towards the block of flats where I lived, then through the front doors and up the stairs. We came to a halt outside my front door and I dropped my arm from round her shoulders.

"Give me two seconds," I said, digging in my pocket for the key.

She laughed.

"I'm used to messy places, it's fine-"

"No, really. Two seconds." I opened the door just enough for me to slip through, then turned back to her. She was grinning slightly and leaning against the wall.

"I'm not going to run off, you know," she said, sounding amused.

I winked at her and shut the door.

I waved my wand in a sweeping motion that wasn't at all feminine. In an instant, my photos froze, my broomstick and other Quidditch gear flew into the airing cupboard, my _Quidditch Weeklys_ and _Prophets_ dropped into the drawer under the coffee table, and the television clicked to tell me that the wizarding channels had hidden themselves. A cloth appeared out of nowhere to rest over Cordelia's cage.

"Nicely done, James," I muttered to myself. I hadn't done that spell in a while. I slid my wand into the table drawer, giving the house one last check to ensure it was fully Muggle friendly, before opening the front door again.

Carlotta raised an eyebrow as she stepped across the threshold and looked round the living room.

"If this is it _after_ you've had time to tidy, then you must be one hell of a slob."

I grinned slightly and locked the door behind her.

"Nice place, though," she continued, slipping off her shoes and dropping her bag into the chair in front of her.

I nodded.

She turned to face me, leaning against the back of the chair; her dress rose a few inches and my eyes fell to her thighs.

"Are you normally this inarticulate with women or is it just my sheer charm and good looks that are putting you off?"

I opened my mouth to give her a witty reply, but before I could say anything she had pushed herself up off the back of the chair and her lips were against mine.

_Damn_, I liked this girl.


	5. five

It was refreshing to wake up to a girl who wasn't trying to propose marriage.

Carlotta was curled up on her left side, facing me, with one hand resting on my stomach. I gave a slight smile, lifted her hand up and placed it down beside her head. She stirred but didn't wake.

I rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of boxers and jeans, then made sure to shut the bedroom door quietly behind me, as I headed out to the kitchen. Luckily, I'd beaten the _Sunday Prophet_ owl. I doubted that it would have gone down well if it had come when I was still asleep.

The owl came as I was pouring some orange juice. It flew through the open window and nearly took out my glass.

"Bloody owls," I muttered, digging five Knuts out of my pocket and stuffing them into the pouch on the owl's leg, before taking the paper. The owl flew off with a loud hoot. I winced and stuffed the paper into the drawer in front of me.

Carlotta appeared in the doorway, looking mighty fine in the shirt I'd been wearing the previous night.

"Morning," I said. "Want breakfast?"

She looked slightly taken aback.

"You know, you're the first guy who's offered to cook me breakfast in the morning."

"You're clearly not pulling the right guys, then," I said with a wink. "Is that a yes, then? I can only do eggs and bacon. I can't cook anything else-"

She widened her eyes.

"You _can't cook_ a full English?" She sighed. "What do you have?" She opened the fridge.

"I think I have the full works in there, my mum was round yesterday and she generally restocks for me-"

"Sensible woman." She pulled some sausages, mushrooms and tomatoes out of the fridge and closed it with her elbow. "I'll teach you how to cook a full English."

I stared at her in surprise.

"You know, you're the first girl who's offered to help me cook breakfast."

She smirked.

"You're clearly not pulling the right girls."

* * *

><p>"I'll go to my sister's; it's fine."<p>

Carlotta was pulling her shoe on, gripping the back of the chair for balance.

"You sure?" I frowned. "I can walk you there if you want-"

"She only lives up the road," she said, standing up straight and smoothing her dress down. "I'll be fine, trust me."

"Well ... you'll freeze in that, it's bloody January. Hold on a moment."

I darted into my room and pulled open the drawer that held all of my Weasley jumpers. I rummaged through to find a plain one, figuring a jumper with a dragon on the front wouldn't go down too well, and came up trumps with the scarlet one that Nana Weasley had knitted for my nineteenth birthday.

She looked surprised when I handed it to her.

"Oh," she said, looking down at it.

"What?" I frowned. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong at all, I just..." She tailed off.

"Then..."

"I – I just..." She stopped again. "Thanks." She looked up at me and with a slight smile, pulled the jumper on. "I'm just not used to guys actually being polite the morning after, I guess. You're quite a breath of fresh air. Thank you, really, I appreciate it." She stepped forwards and kissed me softly, before picking up her bag and turning to the door. With her hand on the door handle, she stopped and turned to face me. "I guess I'll see you round some time."

"Yeah ... see you."

She smiled again and left.

Moments later, Brigid Apparated exactly where she'd been standing.

"Brie!" I exclaimed. "You complete fool, if you'd been two seconds earlier you'd have Apparated _on top of a Muggle_. Nice way to break the Statute-"

"Oh, well I do apologise, it's clearly _my_ fault that you decided to bring a Muggle home last night!" She sounded flustered. Her cheeks were pink and her hair was falling out of a messy bun. "Honestly, James, you as well? After I _told_ you not to?"

"Hey!" I cried, raising my hands in defiance. "She initiated it! _And_, she taught me how to cook breakfast this morning-"

"Oh, how _wonderful_!" Brigid flung her arms in the air in exasperation. "I try for years and years to teach you to cook, without success, and some leggy bitch strolls along and teaches you _after a one night stand_! Well, if I wasn't already feeling inadequate-"

"Don't call her a bitch, she's decent," I said, frowning slightly, as I steered her into the chair. "I really don't want to be plying you with alcohol on a Sunday morning but unless you calm down that's going to be my only option. What the _hell_ is wrong?"

She laughed bitterly.

"You actually have to ask?" she said. "Fred bloody Weasley, that's what's wrong. And that Muggle he pulled last night. And then I come here for sympathy, only to find you've pulled the girl's mate! Oh, _Merlin_, you boys are both hopeless..." She buried her head in her hands.

"I resent being called a 'boy'. I am twenty-one and most definitely all man."

Cordelia let out a loud hum, so I pulled the cloth off her cage and filled her food bowl. She took up her normal position inside it to eat. "_Bloody_ pygmy puff..."

"Freddie's twenty-one and most definitely all boy still." Brigid scowled. "Got today's _Prophet_? I need to take my mind off things."

"It's in the kitchen-"

She pulled her wand out of her pocket.

"_Accio Prophet_!"

I heard a kitchen drawer open. Moments later the paper flew into the living room, and into Brigid's outstretched hand.

"Lazy much?"

I fell back into the sofa.

"I'm lovesick, I'm allowed." She shook the paper open. "So." She looked over the top of the paper at me. "Decent, eh? That's high praise, coming from you. What makes her so special? Three tits? Two mouths?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but she raised a hand to silence me.

"Actually, scratch that, I don't want to know."

"She's got a very dry sense of humour, you know," I said. "A lot like you."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Don't go getting any ideas. That would be like incest."

"Don't worry, I don't plan on making a move any time soon."

It was clearly the wrong thing to say when she was in such a fragile state. Her face crumpled.

"Yeah, I mean, who'd want me anyway?" She shut the paper and threw it onto the table.

I groaned, and lowered my head into my hands.

"Brie, I didn't mean it like that and you know it. It's like you said, you're like a sister to me." I paused. "And that's nonsense, you'd be one hell of a catch, if only you'd actually make an effort-"

"I'm trying," she snapped.

"No, you're moping over Freddie! If he were to see you with other guys, it'd spur him on to actually _do_ something."

"If I have to resort to getting with other guys so as to get with him ... well, it seems a bit daft, if I'm honest. I'm beginning to wonder if he's really that worth it."

I stared at her, dumbstruck.

"Brie..."

She looked down at her hands, which were in her lap.

"Brie, you've liked him for ... well..."

"Since Fifth Year," she told her legs.

This had me speechless.

"Anyway, I'm going to stop pining and moaning because it's probably driving you round the bend. So." She clapped her hands together, sitting up. "Let's do something, Jimmy. Me and you. Like old times."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Let's go mad," I said dryly. "Doing ... what, exactly?"

She shrugged.

"Robbing a bank?"

"Sounds like a fabulous idea, just give me a moment while I fetch my dragon."

She laughed, and got to her feet.

"Seriously. Let's go for a walk. Somewhere. Anywhere. I don't know."

I raised an eyebrow.

"There's nothing I like more than a decisive woman," I said flatly. I glanced at what she was wearing. "Brie, it's January. Which means it's cold. Which means that one layer isn't enough."

"Who's a clever boy?" She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you have more than enough Weasley jumpers to spare in your room."

"Wear one of your own next time!" I called after her as she headed to my room.

She returned moments later with two jumpers, throwing last Christmas' grey one to me and pulling the deep blue one I got for my fifteenth birthday over her head. By now it was far too small for me, but I still had it, along with every other jumper Nana Weasley had knitted me. I couldn't bring myself to throw them out. I'd offered them to Lily, Brigid and Maddie among others, but they all had several of their own and didn't need any more.

Having put on the jumper, Brigid threw a coat at my head.

"Brie, I said one layer wasn't enough. I didn't say we needed three."

She scoffed and tugged on another one of my coats.

"Just put the bloody coat on, James, before I smother you with it."

"Touching." I pulled it on and got to my feet. "Where are we going then, o bossy one?"

"Diagon Alley," she said decisively. "And we'll Floo. I'm not walking down all those stairs."

"I've got the bloody fire locked too. You would make it hard work for me, wouldn't you?"

I retrieved my wand from the coffee table.

"Locked? Why?"

"Now, let's think about this, shall we?" I said patronisingly, waving my wand twice at the fire; firstly to unlock it, enabling Floo travel, and then to create flames in the hearth. "What did we establish not ten minutes ago about the girl who was here last night?"

"Ah, yes, the muggle." She stepped forwards and took a handful of Floo powder from the pot on the mantelpiece, throwing it into the flames, which turned green. She stepped into the fire.

"Diagon Alley!"

With a spin, she was gone.

I waited for a moment, before following suit.

At the other end, I fell out of the fireplace onto the stone floor, as usual.

"You really need to learn how to exit gracefully," Brigid giggled as I got to my feet.

"Oh, shut up," I scowled.

Being a Sunday in mid-January, the Leaky Cauldron was thankfully close to empty, apart from the Sunday regulars.

"Morning, James, Brigid," said the landlady, Hannah Longbottom, from behind the bar.

"Morning, Mrs L.," we both chorused back.

"We'll be back for lunch," Brigid said with a smile.

I followed her out of the pub, and tapped the brick that revealed the entrance to the Alley.

"I need to pop to Quality Quidditch Supplies," she said as the wall rearranged itself into the arch leading into the Alley. "Roxie needs some new gloves."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Lazy much?" I said. "Tell her to get them herself. You're her agent, not her PA!"

It was her turn to look at me incredulously.

"James, you're talking to the person who bought you a wedding present for your cousin and a birthday present for your sister two weeks ago. Do you _really_ think you're in a position to talk?"

We reached Quality Quidditch Supplies and entered.

"Yeah, but you did that as a friend, not as an agent," I attempted to reason with her as I followed her into the shop.

"In that case, next time I need tampons you can buy them," she said, while perusing the numerous pairs of Quidditch gloves that hung down the right hand wall.

I spluttered.

"Well ... you're less busy than I am-"

"You test rode a broomstick, answered five questions in an interview and brought home two girls last week. I met up with Mum and the Bagmans three times, attended every interview for every person I manage and made several visits to the Quidditch League to sort out paper registration and other admin. That's a load of rubbish and you know it. Does Roxie have full-fingered or half-fingered gloves?"

"Half," I said, turning my attention to the display of vintage brooms at the back of the store. Amongst them was Sinead's Firebolt from one of the World Cups she'd played in. In fact, all of the brooms mounted on the wall belonged to legendary ex-Quidditch players. It was a museum of sorts. Numerous other relatives of current Falcons players had a broom on the wall, including Alfie's several-greats-grandfather, and Cato and Cleo Bagman's great-uncle Ludo. Cassie Lynch's dad Aidan's Firebolt was next to Sinead's, along with Aisling Quigley's father Finbar's.

I felt Brigid appear at my side.

"One of these days, I'm gonna have a broom up on that wall..."

"Damn right you are." She took my hand and squeezed it.

I waited outside the stationery shop and the owl emporium while Brigid bought some quills and owl nuts. People walking past the shops pointed and waved as they walked past. I nodded back at them awkwardly.

"All done," she said brightly as she exited the emporium. "Anywhere you want to go?"

"Can we pop to Wheezes?" I asked.

She scrunched her nose up.

"He doesn't work weekends," I reminded her. "Come on, let me visit my long-suffering Aunt."

Aunt Angelina was alone in the shop, restocking Headless Hats, when we entered. Most of their business came from Hogwarts students, who only visited the Diagon Alley branch in the summer and Christmas holidays. During the school year, it was the Hogsmeade branch they frequented. The occasional Ministry troublemaker or professional Quidditch player (not guilty) provided the Diagon Alley shop with year-round business, however.

"We've got some stuff that needs testing," she said as she finished stacking the shelves. "Come through to the back, I'll show you."

"What is it?" I asked curiously, as we followed her through to the storeroom at the back of the shop.

"We've not named it yet." She opened one of the cardboard boxes. "Quite simple, fairly harmless, just sweets that make your skin, hair, eyes, take your pick, change colour. All sorts of variations; some are block colour, others patterns. George and I have both tested them but they didn't work as well on me as they did him, so we need to edit them so they have the same effect on all skin tones and hair colours. It would be helpful if you tried them too, see how they work on you."

I reached out to take one of the bags she was holding, but Brigid interrupted before I could do so.

"How long does this take to wear off?"

Aunt Angelina shrugged.

"They're _designed_ to last about the same length of time as the Canary Creams. They lasted a bit longer than that on George, though."

"Is there any chance of them going wrong with James?"

She shrugged again.

"That's what we're hoping to find out."

"What's the issue, Brie?" I frowned. "I've tested stuff before..."

"Yes, but you have a _photoshoot_ with _Witch Weekly_ in four days' time-"

My eyes lit up.

"I'll do it," I said, reaching out and taking the bag from Aunt Angelina. "Just _imagine_, my face on the cover, with orange skin and polka-dot hair..."

Aunt Angelina laughed.

"If all else fails, kiddo, do a couple of colour-changing charms on yourself. We want to add scents and textures to these," she added, "but we can't do that until we know the colour-changing element works properly, or it'll become too complicated. Think you could try some out, Brie? We don't have any blondes in the family to try them, apart from Fleur and their kids, and I'm not sure how Veela genes will affect these things."

Brigid hesitated for a moment.

"Oh, why not?" she said finally, holding out a hand. "You _will_ be able to fix it if they go wrong, though?"

"Course I will." Aunt Angelina grinned and handed her a bag. "You know the routine, say how long it all lasts, any problems you observe, what you ate or drank last, when you last slept, all of that. Think you can get some to Lily to test, James?"

"_I'll _do it," Brigid said, interrupting me just as I opened my mouth to speak. "James only replies to Lily when_ she_ writes to _him_. She wouldn't get them for weeks."

"If you ever decide to drop the sports agent job and just become a PA, then I'm interested," Aunt Angelina said, handing her another bag.

Brigid laughed.

"I'm afraid you're behind Ginny, Hermione and Audrey already," she said, with a grin. "But at least I know I have other options when James finally drives me to retirement."

"Hey!"

* * *

><p>On Tuesday morning, I had a surprise visitor.<p>

"Hi," I said in surprise, as I opened the door to Carlotta.

"Hi," she replied, smiling awkwardly. "I just wanted to return this."

She held out my jumper.

"Oh!" I took it from her. "Thanks. I didn't expect it back, so thank you."

She frowned.

"What, you thought I was just gonna keep it?"

"No!" I said hurriedly. "Well ... yes, I guess ... but it was just that ... well, I wasn't sitting by the door waiting for you to bring it back, let's just say that. I mean, I didn't tell you I wanted it back, so..." I tailed off.

"Well, I could hardly keep it," she said. "It's lovely. You can tell a lot of hard work went into knitting it."

"Yeah, my Nana knitted it," I said with a grin. "This one was for my nineteenth birthday. I get one every birthday and every Christmas. So does the rest of the family, and she's started knitting them for friends now, too. I don't think she does anything else all year."

"That's really sweet," Carlotta said. "And you remember when you got this one?"

"I remember them all," I said with a shrug. "If she's going to knit me two a year, the least I can do is remember which is which."

She smiled.

"Well, I should be going now," she said. "Unless ... are you going out on Thursday?"

"I wasn't planning on it," I said.

Just then, I remembered that the blasted _Witch Weekly_ interview was on Thursday. Going out afterwards seemed an incredibly attractive proposal.

"Oh. Well, you should. You should come to the Tav. I'm working, but you should come anyway. It's cheese night."

She spoke quite hurriedly.

"But if you don't want to it's fine," she added before I could speak.

"I'll ask around," I said in amusement. I was wondering what she'd meant by 'cheese night' – it wasn't a phrase I'd come across in my five years of Muggle Studies– but I didn't want to ask her for fear of looking stupid.

"Cool!" she said. "Well, I'll hopefully see you Thursday then."

"Yeah, hopefully." I smiled. "Thanks again for the jumper."

"No worries!" She smiled widely. "See you!"

And with that, she was gone.

I closed the door behind her, staring incredulously at the jumper in my hand. Perhaps Leggy Allegra could wait a few weeks...


	6. six

"I still think this is a _really_ bad idea-"

"Oh, shut up, Rosemary," I scowled. "Aren't we supposed to be encouraged to mingle with Muggles?"

"For a start," Rose said. "_Don't_ call me Rosemary. Secondly, there's a difference between mingling with Muggles and picking a Muggle girl up in a club, especially when you tend to stick with a girl only until it gets too serious for you. You _know_ we're only supposed to break the Statute in exceptional circumstances!"

"I'm not going to break the bloody Statute, Rosie," I grumbled, falling back into the sofa.

"Don't _flop_ into the sofa like that, you'll break the springs!" she scolded. "And you _will_ break the Statute, because there's no way that you can keep magic a secret with a girl round your flat all the time. The broomstick, the Floo network, the television programmes, people Apparating in-"

"She's got a point with the last one," Al added, sticking his head round the doorway from his bedroom. "You can block or hide the rest, you can't stop people Apparating in."

"I could," I reasoned. "Hogwarts is anti-Apparition-"

"Yes, but there's a reason that only Hogwarts has that security, James," Rose said patronisingly, as Al retreated back into his room, "and that's because it's _difficult magic_."

"We're the kids of three of the most powerful people in wizarding Britain, I don't see why that should be a problem."

"Because that's _abusing_ their abilities, James. You can't just cast anti-Apparition spells willy-nilly!"

"Well, in that case, people should start respecting my privacy and stop Apparating straight into my house."

Rose snorted in an unladylike fashion. Well, she _was_ her father's daughter.

"When you start respecting other peoples' privacy, they'll respect yours," she said.

"I _do_ respect-"

"Let's recap. How did you arrive here not ten minutes ago?"

I closed my mouth.

She smirked.

"So," she continued, "how was the _Witch Weekly _interview?"

I groaned and threw my head back.

"It went well then?"

"I can't believe Brigid arranged for me to do it! What in the name of Merlin was she thinking? After all the rubbish they spouted out about Dad, and your mum..."

"That's the media for you." She shrugged. "It's all about raising your profile, James. It's fickle, is fame. People love you when you're on top, and hate you when you're not. You'd better get used to it, cause you're gonna get one hell of a lot of attention in the coming years."

"I wouldn't mind _that_," I grumbled, "if I wasn't forced to answer stupid questions. They don't want to know a thing about Quidditch!"

"Of course they don't. The average _Witch Weekly_ reader can't even spell Quidditch."

"Nana reads it," Al reminded her, joining us in their lounge.

"Well, that depends who you believe," she said. "She'll have us believe she uses it as compost. Now then, Albie." She turned to him. "I'll be having no rumpus from you tonight, please. I'd like to sleep in my own bed, if that's at all possible."

His cheeks tinged red.

"This is why you should have your own flat rather than sharing," I said, leaning back with my hands behind my head.

"James, I'm only a minor employee in the Department of Magical games and Sports and Albus is still only a trainee Auror. Our wages don't exactly compare with those of a top-notch Quidditch player. Anyway, I should be fine. Unlike you, Al doesn't seem to feel the need to bed a different girl every night."

"For a start, it's not every night, and secondly, it's not a different girl every time-"

"Oh, stop trying to defend yourself. The point is, Al has more self-restraint than you-"

"Is that what you call it?" I asked, turning and raising an eyebrow at Al.

His response, which I expected would have included a few choice swear words, a vulgar hand gesture and numerous insults, was interrupted by the fireplace, whose flames turned green long enough for Lucy to stumble out onto the rug.

"Evening, Luce," said Rose as Lucy brushed the ash off her shoulders. "Make sure you clean that up."

Lucy grimaced.

"You sound like Molly," she said, disgruntled. "I've only just escaped her, please don't start channelling her."

"What was she doing this time?" Al asked, amused.

"She's seeing some fellow from work. He's boring as hell. Suits her down to the ground. _Scourgify_." Lucy tucked her wand back into her pocket. "Dad simply _loves_ him, of course. They could talk for hours about cauldron thickness. She invited him round for dinner. It was the most horrific two hours of my life."

I pulled a sympathetic face. I had little time for Molly – mostly because she disapproved of near enough everything I did. This was why I liked Lucy so much; she might think I was a complete idiot at times, but most of the time she let me get on with it without complaint.

"So, why are we off out tonight?" Lucy asked, taking a seat and a bottle of Firewhisky. "And where are your normal drinking buddies?"

"I'm drowning my sorrows after the _Witch Weekly_ interview, and the others can't cope with more than two nights out a week."

"A little bird told me that Adelheid wasn't out on Saturday when you went to the Tavern," Rose said, looking intrigued. "I thought she was your first port of call for a night out? And she _never_ turns down a night on the town."

I shrugged. "She can get a bit overbearing."

"That certainly goes some way to describing her," Lucy agreed. "She's a lovely girl, but she's very brash. It's no wonder you two get on," she added cheekily, before ducking to avoid the cushion I threw at her.

"Watch the vase!" Rose yelped, but it was too late. The cushion flew right into it, sending it crashing to the floor.

"Oops."

* * *

><p>"I'd rather be at the Hinky," Lucy grumbled as we reached the Tavern.<p>

"Yeah, we all know how you feel about the barman there, Lu," I retorted.

"Oh, shut up." She elbowed me lightly. "What's with your fixation with this place then?"

"One of the barmaids," I replied, following Rose to a table. Al had headed to the bar.

"Does that mean you admire her from afar or that you're hoping to get her back to yours?"

"He's already gotten her back to his," Rose interjected.

Lucy raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I can't say that's one of your _best_ ideas," she said.

"You've taken it better than Rosie did."

"Put it this way, James. Do you remember, in Fifth Year, when you decided to jump off one of the Quidditch hoops without a broom?"

I grinned at the memory.

"_That_ was a better idea than this."

My face fell.

"Not you as well! What's wrong with getting with a Muggle?"

"Both of you would do well to remember we're in a ..." Rose glanced round, then mouthed the word '_Muggle'_ "establishment right now and you'd do well to keep your voices down if you must yack about such things."

Lucy waved a hand airily.

"Point is," she said, "that little stunt only risked your life. Now, I'm sure your death would cause your parents and Al and Lily a lot of grief, and I'd be disappointed too, but it wouldn't threaten the existence of our entire community."

I stared at her incredulously.

"What is it with you guys thinking I'm going to single-handedly bring about the downfall of the wizarding world? Brigid's just the same. Honestly, I'm _seeing a girl_. We're not even dating. I've only chatted to her twice. You're acting as though this is the end of everything!"

"Well, it could be," Rose pointed out. "One wrong move, and you know what could happen. Remember the last Muggle? She-"

"Nearly fell over my broom, _I know_. It won't happen this time!"

"You don't know that. Better safe than sorry. What's wrong with going for a witch? I thought you had something going on with Allegra Fawcett?"

I shrugged.

"Haven't really seen her since. Came here instead the other day."

"Well, I wish you'd just go back to the Hinky in that case," Rose muttered. "Have you ever considered celibacy?"

Her suggestion was met by laughter from Lucy. _Nice._

* * *

><p>I soon learned that "cheese night" basically meant a club night with rubbish music that sounded far better when drunk. During my lifetime, the wizarding world had adopted a few things from the Muggle world, such as television and telephones. <em>Those<em> I had embraced wholeheartedly, but one thing I was content not to even sample was Muggle music. The tripe being played in the Tav confirmed to me that I had made the right decision.

"I was wondering if I'd see your gorgeous face tonight."

Carlotta leaned against the bar counter opposite me.

"You thought I wasn't going to come?"

She shrugged.

"I thought I might have seemed desperate and scared you off. Drink?"

"Yes, please. And for the record, you didn't seem desperate at all."

"Good," she said, grabbing a plastic cup, "because I wasn't. I expect I'd have just about got over it if you hadn't showed."

I smirked.

"Thousands of girls don't, you know," I told her, as she measured out some Muggle alcohol into the cup.

"I'm not thousands of girls," she retorted. She turned back to face me, grabbed a hose from behind the counter and squirted some form of fizzy Muggle drink into the cup. "Here, have it on the house. Don't get used to it though; you're paying for the rest."

"Well, aren't you a charmer?" I took the cup from her.

"I'm not trying to charm anyone, sunshine. Bring Blondie tonight?"

"Na, she's all partied out for the week."

"Shame; I could have offered her a night of frivolity with a dashing young fellow."

"She wouldn't go for it."

Carlotta raised an eyebrow.

"Too in love with matey boy?"

"Partly, but it's just not her thing anyway. She likes to think of herself as a self-respecting young woman."

"And you don't agree with her?"

"Who said I didn't?"

She shrugged.

"Just the way you said it, that's all. Who _have_ you come with, then?"

"My brother and a couple more cousins," I replied.

"Check out the street cred there. Do you have any friends that aren't cousins or in love with them? Come to think of it, how many cousins do you _have_?"

"A lot," I replied, with a slight grin. "It doesn't leave me with many non-relations to be mates with, unfortunately."

She let out a laugh.

"Brother, you say? He the hunk with gorgeous green eyes?"

My jaw dropped.

"You are _joking_. _Hunk_? My _brother_? What-"

She was laughing.

"He's good looking, I won't deny him that. _Obviously_ not as good as you, darling, don't get your knickers in a twist. What's his name?"

"Al."

"Short for?"

I paused.

"Albert."

She stared at me for a moment.

"Albert," she repeated.

I nodded.

"You're telling me that they named _you_ James, and him _Albert_?"

"Named after an ancestor," I said smoothly, glad that I was the one with a Muggle friendly name. "He goes by Al, though."

"I can see why. Poor boy..." She shook her head. "I think he deserves to get his whole bar bill on the house."

"Don't go feeling too sorry for him," I said quickly. "He's survived this long with his name. He doesn't need sympathy dished out to him now."

"I think you're jealous that I think he's good looking." She smirked. "Oh, by the way, I need to just make something clear-"

"Carla! Less yacking, more serving!"

One of the other bar workers smacked her gently on the back of her head as he passed her.

"Alright, alright." She rolled her eyes. "Don't move a jot," she ordered me.

"It's okay, it's not like I have anything better to do than to just stand here..."

She laughed and moved away to serve someone else.

Albus appeared at my side.

"How long does it take to get a drink?" He grinned.

I gestured towards Carlotta.

"Just chatting."

He cast a look over her.

"So _that's_ her?"

"Yeah. And she thinks you're called Albert, by the way."

He looked at me incredulously.

"What did you tell her that for?"

"Well, I could hardly tell her you're called Albus, could I? It's, like, the least common Muggle name there is."

"But _Albert_? Could you not have thought of a better name than _that_?"

"You try coming up with a false name under pressure!" I downed the rest of my drink. "Where are the girls?"

"Chatting to some guys. Well, Lucy's chatting, Rosie's supervising. Lu told me I was cramping their style."

"So you've come to cramp mine instead?"

He shrugged.

"Pretty much. What do you have to do to get served in this place then?"

I gestured towards Carlotta, who was still serving.

"Chat up the hot barmaids," I said. "And if she offers you it on the house, she's joking." I wasn't having Al get all the perks from her.

"She worth the risk then?"

I groaned.

"Not you as well! Honestly, is _everyone_ just going to lecture me about this?"

He shrugged.

"I think I'd be wasting my time if I did," he said. "You'd listen to me as much as you do to everyone else, which is basically not at all-"

"I _listen_ to people," I said gruffly, "I just choose not to take their advice on board."

"Just ... be careful, that's all."

I nodded.

"I know," I said.

"But that's the thing, James. Sometimes, I don't think you _do_."

* * *

><p>I left the bar soon afterwards, as the demand for service grew and it became clear that Carlotta wouldn't have any time to chat.<p>

I returned later in the night, slightly worse for wear.

"Here." Carlotta handed me a cup of water. "Drink it, you'll feel better in the morning for it."

I pulled a face, but drank the water anyway.

"What time do you finish?" I asked her.

"Well, in theory, I'm here 'til we close at two, but I could get off earlier. Why, wanting to leave already?" She grinned cheekily, and flicked my nose.

"I just want to put you out of your misery, darl-"

"Oh, whatever." She rolled her eyes, her smile still in place, and refilled my cup, with something stronger this time. "That reminds me. I don't mean to sound harsh, but I find it's better to be honest now than to sugarcoat it and end up married a year down the line. You seem a nice guy, but if you're looking for a relationship or something from this, then I'd look elsewhere if I were you, because right now I'm just looking to have a bit of fun."

"You," I said, pointing at her, "are my kind of girl. Can we go yet?"

She laughed.

"You're so drunk," she teased. "I'll see if I can leave now, stay here and drink up."

She turned and headed towards the other end of the bar. Moments later, Rose appeared next to me.

"Can we go home yet?" she asked.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Giving up already?"

"We've been here for two hours," she pointed out. "And you seem well in there with your bird. Albus and I both have work tomorrow, and Lucy's drank too much as usual. Behave yourself, I'll see you soon." She ruffled my hair and disappeared back in the direction from which she'd come.

I downed my drink in one and set the cup back on the bar counter. A pair of arms snaked round my neck and I turned to see Carlotta standing behind me.

"Let's go, before they change their minds," she said with a grin.

I vacated the bar stool I'd taken up residence on and followed her out of the club.

"Would they change their minds?" I asked, as she pulled a jacket on.

"One of the girls got a bit stroppy when I asked to leave. She's got uni lectures tomorrow morning and wanted to leave early. But I've covered that many shifts for her recently that she's got a cheek kicking up a stink now."

"Are you at university too?" I asked, trying to remember what I'd learned about further education in Muggle Studies.

"No, I'm not interested in uni. I..." She paused, looking a little embarrassed. "You'll think it's stupid..."

"Try me," I said, slipping an arm round her waist as we walked.

"Don't laugh," she warned. "I ... I want to own a restaurant one day. Or a pub. Or a cafe. I'm not sure. But something like that. I like cooking and I want to do something in that line. I know, it's stupidly overambitious, but if you never try, you'll never get anywhere, right? And I know it's going to need a lot of money, but that's why I'm working here, so I can start saving and hopefully begin to get somewhere."

I stared at her for a moment, impressed.

"I don't think that sounds stupid at all," I said. "I think that's really good, that you know what you want to do, and that you're actually doing something about it. I mean, better to do that than to waste time and money on something you don't want to do, right?"

She smiled, presumably reassured.

"Exactly what I say," she said. "Mamá totally backs me with it. I inherited my love of cooking from her, you see. Dad ... well, he wants me to be happy, but he also wants me to be successful, and that's not really guaranteed with this. He's going to help me out as much as he can though. He says he won't leave me to struggle."

"For what it's worth, I think you'll succeed," I said. "I mean, you managed to teach _me_ to cook, and my family and friends have been trying and failing for years."

She laughed.

"I showed you how to cook sausages and mushrooms, James, I hardly think that demonstrates an ability to run a restaurant," she said. "But thank you anyway, it means a lot. Anyway, what are _you_ doing at the moment? Job? Studying?"

We had reached my flat. I paused and rummaged in my pockets for my key while I tried to come up with a plausible story.

"I play football," I said, remembering the sports section of the Muggle Studies course. "It's a small team," I added hurriedly, in case she was a fan of the sport. "Nothing too special."

"You any good?" she asked cheekily. I elbowed her playfully as I opened my door, causing her to squeal.

"I don't think I'm too bad," I said, nudging her through the doorway. "Better than you are at cooking, I reckon."

"Blasphemy." She kicked her shoes off. "Don't suppose you've got anything of the alcoholic variety in your kitchen, have you?"

"Mead?" I suggested.

A bewildered look crossed her face.

"It's good stuff!" I protested. "From Germany. I have a couple of German friends who bring it over. Trust me, you'll like it."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Well, I'll take your word for it," she said dubiously. "Lead the way."

"Can you not drink on the job?" I asked, as we headed for the kitchen.

She laughed.

"Can you imagine me trying to serve people when I'm just as pissed as they are? No, that definitely wouldn't work. How old are you, by the way?"

"That was random," I said, as she sat down at the kitchen table. "Twenty-one. You?"

"A woman never discloses her age." She smirked. "Twenty."

"Same age as my cousin Lucy," I observed, grabbing two bottles of mead from the side. "Want a glass?"

She shook her head.

"I'll drink out of the bottle; I'm not at all classy. How many cousins _do_ you have, then?"

"Nine." I sat down opposite her. "And a brother and a sister. You?"

"A few cousins back in Spain who I rarely see, and a brother and a sister, same as you. Do you see your cousins often?"

"All the time," I said. "We're a close family, I guess. Couple of them annoy me at times, but in general they're alright. Freddie and Lucy were the same school year as me, so I saw a lot of them in particular."

"When's your birthday?" she asked.

"What's this, twenty-one questions?" I grinned. "September, why?"

"Working out how many school years ahead of me you are," she said. "My birthday's November, so I would have been the year behind you. Which school did you go to?"

"Boarding school in Scotland," I said quickly. "You won't have heard of it."

"I wouldn't have put you down as a boarder. Why Scotland?"

"Dad's old school. Done interrogating me yet?" I grinned; she remained unabashed. "How's the mead?"

"Surprisingly nice," she replied. "I feel like I should be apologising to it for my preconception."

"Just finish it, that's an apology enough. Do it naked and it'll forget you ever doubted it."

She raised an eyebrow.

"And you've absolutely no ulterior motive for wanting me to undress?"

"Would I really advance my own interests in the name of my beloved German mead?"

"You're a bloke; you'd do anything necessary to get a girl in bed."

"Don't sugarcoat it, love; say what you mean."

She smirked, and drained the bottle.

"Drink up, gorgeous," she said, getting to her feet and leaving the kitchen.

I glanced at my bottle of mead, which was still full, then got to my feet and poured the liquid down the sink.

After all, I could hardly leave her waiting, could I?


	7. seven

Next morning, I was woken abruptly by the sound of the phone ringing. Carlotta let out a groan and buried her head under the pillow. I rolled over and grabbed the phone from the bedside table.

"Lo?"

It was Brigid.

"Team meeting in ten minutes at base," she said, without bothering with a greeting.

"I wha?"

"Last night the League called a snap meeting; something to do with a last-minute decision about the season schedule. All the managers and coaches are there now. Mum wants to meet with the squad when it's over to explain. Just be at the training ground in ten minutes. I've got to go; I've got about twenty other people to ring. See you later!"

With that she hung up.

I groaned, put the phone back in its holder, and hauled myself up out of bed.

Carlotta emerged from under the pillow, looking confused. I held back a laugh, seeing her bed hair.

"Gotta go," I said. "Work stuff. Stay there as long as you like, I shouldn't be too long. Help yourself to food if you get hungry."

She nodded, her head dropping back onto the pillow with a soft thump.

I arrived at the training ground in Falmouth quarter of an hour later to be greeted by a sleepy Della, and a sleeping Klaus.

"Mo-morning," Della said, a yawn catching her mid-word.

"What's going on?" I asked, falling into the sofa next to her.

"Your guess is as good as mine," she said. Her head was falling onto my shoulder. "But if it's not important, then Sinead's getting it."

The huge frame of recently signed Cato Bagman appeared in the doorway leading from the meeting room where we were into the kitchen. He had a steaming mug in one hand and a pasty in the other.

I frowned.

"Who's feeding you, Bagman? And more to the point, where's mine?"

He grinned.

"Jules took pity on me. And you don't get any. You have to starve." He settled himself down in a chair opposite me and put his mug down on the table between us. "Good to see you, Potter.

He held out a hand, which I shook.

"Good to have you on board, mate," I said. "Even if you _are_ worming your way into our Julia's affections. Oi, Horton!" I raised my voice and turned my head towards the kitchen. "Where's my grub?"

"Hold your horses, boy, you've only just gotten here!" Julia replied. "One minute and I'll be out with something."

Julia had played Chaser for the Falcons and for England for years and was still a fine player. She was now a reserve as well as being our Chaser coach and the mother hen of the team.

"What you got, then?" I asked Cato.

"Sausage," he said, his words muffled by the pastry.

"Ah, the Horton speciality," I said, propping my legs up on the table.

"And don't you forget it!"

She emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray with two mugs and two plates balanced on it. She set it down on the table, pushing my feet off it.

"Feet belong on the floor," she scolded. "You're as bad as my five year old."

"How are the kids?" I asked, taking the plate and mug she handed to me. "Cheers, Jules, you're a star."

"I know." She grinned and took a seat at the table. "They're good, thanks. Jennifer keeps blowing the place up, and Patrick can be a little tyke at times, but I wouldn't have it any other way. We bought Patrick a new toy broom the other day, which has proved a near disaster. We've had to box away anything fragile we still have. Putting them out of his reach isn't enough anymore."

I laughed and tore my pasty in half.

"He the next big thing for the Falcons then?" I asked.

"Well, I think he needs to grow a bit first," she replied, "but you never know."

Cato's sister Cleo joined us from the kitchen. She had the Bagman good looks as had her brother, I grudgingly admitted. Both also had the Bagman frame, which came with being a Beater, however, which in Cleo's case detracted slightly from the looks.

"Hi, James," she said with a smile, as she joined us. "Good to see you again."

"Good to see you in Falcon colours, darl." I gave her a cheeky wink.

"Don't go turning the charm on with my sister, Potter, or you'll find yourself more acquainted with my fist than you want to be." Cato sounded threatening, though he added a grin to dampen the threat slightly. I wasn't too reassured; he was a _big_ man.

"Threat well and truly taken on board," I said, finishing my pasty. "So," I continued, turning back to Julia, "any idea what this League meeting is about?"

"I know as much as you do," she replied. "Brigid says it's about the season schedule, though, so I expect it's something to do with how to fit it round the World Cup."

Our season lasted from early March to mid-November. The games were played on Saturdays and we played the other twelve teams in the league both home and away, with three games in a row, followed by two weekends off. This year's World Cup, however, was scheduled to run from mid-July to the end of August, game-length permitting so we'd been expecting the League schedule to be rearranged. Continuing during the World Cup would be unpopular and near unfeasible. We expected to lose our weekends off, which in fairness, we didn't really need unless a game lasted more than a few days. I couldn't say that I wouldn't miss them, though –I'd spent many a weekend off frequenting the Hinky or the Leaky.

"Mind you," Julia continued, glancing at her watch, "at this rate most of the squad won't be here to hear what the League's decision _is._"

"This everyone so far?" I was surprised. I was normally the last to show for team meetings.

"No, everyone else is hiding in the lockers," she replied sarcastically. Cato choked on his coffee and Della giggled sleepily from my shoulder. "Laura should be here soon; I spoke to her earlier. Brigid says to expect everyone, but I won't expect Ryan to turn up within the next twenty minutes. She's fully expecting to have to drag him out of bed."

I grinned. If I was last to arrive at team meetings, Ryan was the second to last.

Right on cue, our sixth Chaser, Laura another ex-England legend joined us in the meeting room.

"I've heard a rumour from an insider, and you won't like it," she said, shrugging her coat off.

"This insider wouldn't be your dearly beloved, would he?" Della asked, raising an eyebrow.

Laura's husband worked in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, so he had a lot of involvement with the League.

"I always said he was useful for something," she said, with a slight grin.

"Yes, yes, enough chat about the hubby, what's the rumour?" I said impatiently.

"Shortened season," she said gloomily.

The others looked as dismayed as I felt about the possibility.

"If that's true, it's a disaster," Julia said. "How can you chop part of the season out? Completely ridiculous." She shook her head, as if to emphasise how ludicrous she thought it.

"I get that we can't play the League during the Cup," Della said. "I mean, we'd be desperately short..."

"Down to two Beaters and three Chasers tops, and we'd have no Seeker in our squad," Laura chipped in.

"Exactly," she continued. "And the Irish, Scottish and Welsh clubs would be left with ... ooh, maybe one team combined? Not to mention that they're using most of our pitches for World Cup matches. But there's no reason why we can't play the whole thing and leave a gap for the Cup."

One by one the rest of the squad arrived. Roxanne was still in her clothes from the night before. She'd been to the Hinky and hadn't gotten to bed before Brigid had called her, apparently. Having had at least six hours' sleep, her all-nighter made me feel old. Ryan arrived half an hour after I'd rocked up, and was even more surprised than the rest of us to discover to have beaten his mother.

"She said she'd be here by half past nine, and she sounded fairly confident about it," said Brigid, who had arrived with her brother the lure of Julia's cooking was clearly too strong. "If the meeting's already overran by half an hour..."

"They clearly can't come to a concensus," said Keira a Beater, and another member of our ex-England club with a shrug. "I expect the teams with few internationals are begging for the League to happen as scheduled, the slimy buggers-"

"-and the bigger clubs like us will want the full season but with the break," finished Alfie, who was playing catch with our other Keeper Sophie, our fourth and last ex-England player. He deftly caught the Quaffle that she lobbed at him, passing it back to her with barely a pause.

Sinead arrived ten minutes later, looking frazzled.

"Absolute nightmare," she said, shaking her head. "Thanks, Jules," she added, as Julia handed her a mug of tea. She sat down in the circle that we'd created. "Half the season chopped."

The reaction was one of dismay and outrage.

"What?" cried Sophie.

"That's ridiculous!" Klaus chipped in, now fully awake.

"How are they doing it?" Roxanne asked.

"Twelve matches, six home, six away, from mid-March as normal, but ending in early July, with the two-week breaks intact." Sinead pulled a pile of parchment out of her bag. "I've got fixture lists here for you all. The last match is on a Friday because the World Cup draw is the Saturday. I can't say I'm not disappointed, kids. I was fully behind having a split for the Cup, and chopping the breaks out. Unfortunately, some of the other clubs disagreed."

"Bet it was the Cannons," Ryan grumbled.

The Falcons had always had a not-so-friendly rivalry with the Cannons, possibly due to the proximity of the two clubs. This rivalry only made my 'betrayal' worse for poor old Uncle Ron.

"I hate to add fuel to the fire," Sinead said, "but I'm afraid they were. Along with the Arrows and the Warriors. The Bats, Kestrels and Harpies agreed with us, but unfortunately it wasn't a club vote, it was a board vote, and they felt that a shortened season was best for the smaller clubs. Completely unfair, if you ask me, but there's not much I can do about it that won't lead to us getting kicked out of the League, so I guess we'll just have to grin and bear it and make the most of having September, October and November off."

"I'll _hate_ that," said Della, who was one of those people who needed to be doing something.

"Long holiday in Germany?" Sinead suggested. "Might be worth looking into a short-term contract with the Harriers. Actually, on that note, if any of you want to use that spare time to get some games in elsewhere, let me know and we'll work something out."

My mind filled with visions of playing in Australia, or the USA, or southern France. While I wouldn't leave the Falcons, I couldn't deny that the idea of a stint playing in another country was incredibly enticing.

Ryan caught my eye across the room.

"I hear Amsterdam's side are improving," he said with a smirk.

Brigid dropped her head into her hands.

"No chance," Sinead said flatly. She handed out the fixtures lists. "Don't you dare lose these, guys. First training on Monday at nine sharp. Be here, be on time, be sober."

Be sober? Had she _met_ her squad?

* * *

><p>A bewildering sight, accompanied by a nice smell, greeted me when I returned to the flat, leaving me wondering if I'd opened the right door.<p>

"Okay, don't get annoyed," Carlotta said quickly, brandishing a wooden spoon and a pair of tongs. "But I thought it was such a waste, your mum buying all this nice food for you every week, when you barely eat any of it, and so I thought maybe I could do something with it that you could heat it up and eat-"

"Have you cooked it all?" I asked, staring at the dishes of food cooling down on the table.

"Not _all_ of it..."

I looked back at her. She looked nervous; the emotion seemed out of place as she usually seemed so confident.

"I'm not mad, you know," I said. My eyes fell on the tongs. "Er, any chance you could put the utensils down?"

"Sorry." She set the tongs and spoon down. "Anyway, you had lots of mince. That was sensible of your mum. Once you know what you can do with it, it's easy to whip anything up. I've done you some bolognese, some stew and some chilli. You just need to heat it up and cook something to go with it spaghetti, naturally, for the bolognese and you're away. I've written the recipes down, so you can manage them yourself in future. Is ... is that okay?" She shifted slightly, looking awkward.

My eyes darted to the table, and the steaming food, then back to her.

"I..."

The truth was, I was speechless. It was one thing having Mum, Lily and Brigid ply me with food and try to teach me to cook it, but from Carlotta, a girl I'd known for less than a week...

"Yeah," was all I could say. "Yeah, it's okay."

* * *

><p>"It's a load of bollocks," Mum proclaimed the next morning, having heard about the season schedule. "I wrote an article on it yesterday. It's in today's paper, not that you'd read it. Farcical decision. You don't need those long breaks! It's going to kill all the interest in the League. The World Cup will entirely overshadow it. Not to mention, you don't need any more opportunities to go out getting drunk. I was hoping they'd cancel your fortnights off, not give you three extra month." She shook her head. "You'll be living in the Hinky by October and broke by December."<p>

"You exaggerate my love affair with the Hinky," I said. "Besides, it's all about the Tav now. The exchange rate benefits us-"

"-and some Muggle girl you're interested in works there. Al told me yesterday." She raised an eyebrow at me. "I won't say what I think about that. Al said Rose has already said it all and you pay about as much attention to me as you do to her. Where have all those meals in your freezer come from, by the way? They certainly weren't there last week and there's no chance you cooked them."

"Carlotta cooked them," I said, around a mouthful of egg. "The Muggle," I clarified, seeing her blank expression. "She likes cooking."

She stared at me for a moment, looking shocked.

"I don't know how you do it, James," she said, shaking her head. "You manage to get them all wrapped round your little finger, even the ones who haven't a clue about Quidditch..." She tailed off, and sat down opposite me with a mug of tea. "Have you talked to Lily since she went back to school?"

I shook my head.

"She's got a job interview on Monday at the Ministry."

My eyes widened.

"Really? What for?"

"Liaison to the Muggle Prime Minister," she replied. "That's the one she was going for. So hopefully it'll go well, although apparently she'll still need to get the required grades even if it does, so she won't find out if she's got the job until August."

"She'll get the grades, no worries. She's cleverer than me and Al put together. Is she applying for anything else?"

"A few things, but I'm not entirely sure what. She's quite vague about everything other than this job. She's been after it for years now. I think she's got her heart set on it. If she doesn't get the grades, or her interview goes badly, I dread to think how upset she'll be..." She let out a loud sigh. "Never mind. Positive thinking, right? And she's certainly got the charisma to pull the interview off. She'll be fine." She paused again. "Just think, the three Potter kids, all either playing professional Quidditch or working for the Ministry. Who would have _dared_ to predict that, eh?"

I laughed.

"I can be more original if you want, Mum," I said. "I could own an apothecary?"

She was mid-gulp at the time, and nearly spat out her mouthful of tea.

"Don't make me laugh when I'm drinking," she scolded once she'd finally swallowed.

"I don't think it's _that_ ridiculous an idea," I said defensively.

"You and Potions didn't exactly go together when you were at school."

"If an E in the N.E.W.T.S counts as 'not going together', I dread to think what a fail is. Besides, what did you get for N.E.W.T Potions? Look at your own shortcomings before trying to find them in your vastly more successful son-"

"You are _insufferable_," she complained. "Honestly, who raised you?"

"Do you _want_ me to answer that?"

She hesitated for a moment.

"You are simply _perfect_, darling, the woman who raised you clearly knew exactly what she was doing. Now, run along and feed your pygmy puff."


	8. eight

I didn't notice the paper lying by my phone until Sunday evening.

"You can't say you're not desperate and then leave your phone number by my phone," I said, when I rang Carlotta.

"And yet, you're the one who chose to ring me," she pointed out. "I was just giving you the option. Putting the ball in your court, shall we say?"

"Well, what if I don't want it in my court?"

"That's not a problem. Out tomorrow night?"

I suppressed a groan.

"Do you _live_ at the Tavern?"

"I've got Tuesday night off this week. I'm having a night out to celebrate."

"At the same place?"

"Perk of the job. Free entry, free drinks, it's a no-brainer. Anyway, I'll definitely be there Monday, so if you're there I'll see you, if not I won't. Have a nice day!"

She hung up.

What a girl.

* * *

><p>The Quidditch season lasted so long that we had little time off each year. Training ended the moment the season did, in late November, only to start up again in late January. In our case, we'd had even less time off last year, due to our extra training for our exhibition game three weeks ago, just before new year.<p>

However, despite having had less than eight weeks without practice, Monday's training session still turned out to be terrible.

It started with Ryan and Alfie breaking two of Sinead's golden rules, turning up both late and hungover.

From there, it just got worse. Though Ryan, Della, Julia, Laura and I had played together for years, it was as if we, and Roxanne, had forgotten how to work as a team. Usually gifted at dummy passes, Della hardly made any at all and those she did make, we missed. On our day, Ryan and I could get a sequence of rapid passes together, so fast that nobody else could get to the Quaffle. Today, however, something just wasn't clicking. Klaus and Stefan were both failing to find the Snitches that Sinead had released – all ten of them – and if us Chasers managed to get a shot on target, the odds were that the Quaffle would go sailing past Alfie and Sophie and through the hoops. As for the Beaters, Keira, Jacob, Cato and Cleo may as well have been competing to see which of them was worst and the rest of us had to execute some pretty sharp dives and swerves to avoid being injured by the Bludgers.

"This is good," Della reminded me and Ryan as we stood on the ground, watching Roxanne, Julia and Laura attempt a Porskoff Ploy. I wasn't sure which was worse, the girls' efforts or Alfie's performance at the hoops. "We're getting all the bad stuff out of the way now, so that when the season starts, we'll be damn invincible. It happens every year, remember?"

"Not really," I said with a wry grin. This time last year, I'd been knocked out by a Bludger. Since then, I'd become an expert iron dodger.

"Back in the air, guys!" Sinead yelled at us. "You're not going home until you've done a perfect Woollongong Shimmy, and given your performance so far, you could be here all week without sleep if you don't start pulling your finger out."

I glanced at the other two once Sinead turned her attention back to the others.

"Tav tonight?"

"I'm in."

"It's a date."

After all, rules _were_ made to be broken.

* * *

><p>The three of us and Alfie made it to the Tav late that night. Training hadn't finished until a good few hours after dark and then we'd sunk a few quick meads at Ryan's before leaving, so we were feeling slightly the worse for wear, apart from Della, who could handle ridiculously large quantities of alcohol. Within moments, Alfie had caught sight of a girl and disappeared, leaving Ryan and me to stop Della starting a fight with a girl who'd fallen into her.<p>

"If you get in a scrap, I'm not helping you out," I said, steering her to the bar. "If you get kicked out, I'm not leaving."

"Your loyalty astounds me," she said dryly, before putting in an order for six pints of lager.

"There is no way I'm gonna be able to keep up with her," Ryan murmured. "I'll be comatose in the morning if I drink as much as she will."

"What kind of a man are you?"

"Let's see how much _you_ can drink before having to bow down to her superior drinking skills."

A pair of arms snaked round my neck, and Carlotta planted a kiss on my cheek.

"I was beginning to think you weren't coming," she said.

"Got out of work late," I said, turning to face her. "This is Ryan, and Della. Kids, this is Carlotta."

"You can call me Carla," she said, flashing a grin at Ryan.

"You didn't tell _me_ that," I protested.

"You can call me anything you like, gorgeous."

"Bloody hell, you're either too drunk or not drunk enough," Della said, sliding two of the pints up the counter towards her. "Here, have a drink or two. Murph, Junior, you can pay me back for yours."

"Get out of it, Brand," Ryan retorted, reaching across Carlotta and me to grab his drinks. "You absolutely wiped me out of mead earlier, you owe me."

"You guys don't drink mead too, do you?" Carlotta said. "And there was me thinking you were decent."

"If you don't like mead then you're a fool," said Della flatly. She ordered another two pints of lager from the barman.

"She does like it, she's just pretending she doesn't." I ruffled Carlotta's hair. "You will soon learn, my dear, that mead is to be worshipped, not scoffed at. Especially the Heidelberg stuff you had the other night; it's like golddust."

Because it was a wizarding mead. But she didn't need to know that.

"We really ought to find Alfie," Della said, glancing round the club. "He's not safe when left to his own devices."

"Keitchy will be fine, Della, stop worrying and drink your booze," Ryan said, taking his own advice.

"It's not him I'm worried about, it's the poor girl he's with."

"It could be worse. He could be like Junior."

"Don't say that. One James is bad enough." Della pulled a face.

I elbowed her in the side and she laughed loudly enough to attract the attention of half the club.

"Pipe down, girl."

"Why is your nickname Junior?" Carlotta asked curiously.

"Cause he's small in the trouser department," Ryan said quickly before I could say anything.

Della snorted into her lager.

"I beg to differ," Carlotta replied smoothly.

I smirked and he responded with a rude hand gesture.

"Wash your hand out with soap, Murphy."

In an absurdly surreal moment, my little sister appeared next to Ryan, and reached up to ruffle his hair. He nudged her arm away, and wrapped his own round her shoulders, pulling her towards him and planting a kiss on her head.

"What you doing here, Mini Potter? Shouldn't you be at school like a good girl?"

"Shouldn't you be tucked up in bed ready for tomorrow's training like a good boy?" Lily retorted. "I had a job interview today. I may or may not have told them that it was a two day interview, so that I could have a night out here with Maddie's sister and her mates."

"What kind of Head Girl are _you_?" I asked incredulously.

"I know how to gain respect from my teachers and use it to my advantage. I'd say that's a skill that deserves to be rewarded with a Head Girl badge." She turned to Carlotta, and I drew in a sharp breath, well aware of what Lily usually thought of the girls I got with, and equally well aware of how freely she expressed those thoughts.

"You this week's trashy pull then?" she asked.

Carlotta smiled serenely.

"No, I'm last week's. This week's trash had a previous engagement."

For a moment, there was no response. I glanced at Ryan, fearing an all-out bitch fight. It wouldn't be the first time Lily had caused one.

But to my surprise and relief, she reached out a hand to Carlotta.

"I'm Lily, James's sister," she said with a smile.

"Carlotta. It's nice to meet you." She took Lily's hand and shook it.

"Ah, my brother told me about you!" Lily's eyes widened slightly.

"Did I?" I frowned.

"Al, you idiot." She rolled her eyes.

"When were you talking to _him _lately?"

"When he took me out for lunch earlier today, like the kind, caring, generous brother he is-"

"I was working!" I protested.

"Very true. And I'm sure you would have offered if you didn't have training. I can just tell you're just about to invite me to breakfast tomorrow, so I'll save you the breath and gratefully accept the offer." She smirked at me, then turned to Ryan. "You going to buy me a drink, then, Ry?"

"I don't think so-"

"Or should I tell your mum that you, James, Della and Alfie are here?"

"What do you want?" he asked, reaching into his pocket for his money.

"Have you seen Alfie, then?" Della asked her.

"Oh, yeah, he was only sitting a few tables away from me, eating a girl's face off, in a very distasteful manner, might I add. I figured that if he was here, then at least _one_ of you three would be. And lo and behold, all three of you are. Where are Roxie and Klaus?"

"Opted out," Ryan said, handing her a drink. "Scared of Mum's wrath."

She raised an eyebrow at the drink.

"How come I don't get a pint?"

"Cause that's the last thing you need. Now run along, and don't get into any trouble."

She grinned cheekily.

"Trouble is my middle name."

And, as if to prove it, she planted a smacker on his mouth, before dancing off.

Glancing at me, he raised his arms in defence, looking scared.

"I didn't do anything!"

"I know. I'll be having a chat with her later about how to behave, mark my words." I frowned slightly. "My little sister, in a nightclub ... she's only been eighteen for two weeks!" I shook my head in disbelief. "She's right. She's trouble personified."

I would have preferred to get through the night without any further proof of that though.

To be fair to her, it wasn't until closing time that she ended up in her scrap.

Carlotta tugged at my arm as we were leaving the Tav, and pointed at a small group of girls just up the road. One of them had very distinctive red hair.

"Bloody hell," I muttered, heading towards them. One of the girls was embroiled in an argument with Lily and the other girls standing behind were backing her up.

"I've told you, I didn't do anything with your bloody boyfriend, it's not my fault you can't keep him under control!" Lily was saying when I reached them.

"I don't need to keep him under control-"

"You obviously _do _-"

"If slappers like you didn't try it on-"

"How _dare_ you call me a slapper! Have you _seen_ the mess you look like?"

The girl, who _did_ look somewhat slutty, I thought, stepped forwards, her arm raised as if to slap Lily round the face. I stepped in front of her, my blood boiling.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," I said angrily.

"What the hell has this got to do with you?"

I glared at her.

"You can't raise a hand to my sister and get away with it."

"James, don't get involved," Lily said from behind me.

"Maybe you need to learn to keep her on a leash then," the girl spat.

Lily flipped. She tried to step round me, but I reached back and held her behind me.

"If I could I'd curse your face off-" she started.

"What's going on?"

One of the bouncers arrived on the scene, with Carlotta behind him.

"These girls are trying to cause trouble," I said quickly before the aggressive girl could jump in.

"There wouldn't _be_ any trouble if your slag sister-"

"These two with you, Carlotta?" the bouncer asked, gesturing to me and Lily.

Carlotta nodded.

"Right. Off you go, both of you."

Lily didn't seem too impressed with the idea. I took one of her elbows, Carlotta stepped forwards and took the other, and we forcefully led her away from the group of girls that the bouncer was now dealing with.

"You know you were asking me why I go to the Tav on nights off, and I said free entry and free drinks?" Carlotta said. "Well, knowing the bouncers helps too."

I laughed.

"Thanks for that, I think I was about to snap. You okay, Lils?" I removed my arm from her elbow and slung it round her shoulders. "How'd you get caught up in that scrap?"

"That slag's slag boyfriend decided I was more interesting than her, and because he can clearly do no wrong in her eyes, she decided to start on me."

"Any idea who she _is_?"

"Maddie's sister knows her and doesn't like her. I've never seen either of them in my life before though."

"She's caused trouble there before," Carlotta spoke up, her arm still linked through Lily's. "She's probably well on her way to being banned."

"Come to think of it, I reckon she was the one who Della nearly kicked off at earlier," I said.

"Wish she had," Lily muttered.

"Why weren't you with Maddie's sister, anyway?"

"They all went off in the opposite direction. I was about to call Al to see if he could pick me up."

"Where are you staying tonight?"

"No idea. I was meant to be going home, but that was before I decided to come out tonight, and I think Mum and Dad might be annoyed if I wake them up at this hour."

"So will Al," I pointed out. "Stay round mine. Then at least I know you're not getting into any more mischief."

"I'm not kipping round yours if you two are going at it in the other room," she said, pulling a face.

"We'll behave." Carlotta grinned. "I'll cook us a little treat when we get back. I'm sure your mum's stocked James's cupboards with food that's too good to waste."

"I really _do_ like you," Lily replied, grinning back at her.

"It's catching," she said with a straight face.

"If you two start getting on, I'm either ditching one or both of you," I said flatly.

"I might get in there first, and ditch you for Lily," Carlotta replied smoothly.

"I wouldn't blame you if you did," Lily said.

"_Now_ who's bigheaded?" I let us into my flat.

"You'll live. You got anything I can change into?"

"Some of your clothes are still in the bloody spare room." I glared at her.

She grinned cheekily.

"Why do you think I leave them here? I can find some clothes for you to change into if you want, Carlotta?"

"That'd be nice," she said, following Lily to the spare room. "And call me Carla, Carlotta is such a mouthful..."

I shook my head and fell into my favourite armchair.

About a minute later, Lily joined me, sitting down on the sofa.

"I like her," she said quietly. "Still think it's a bad idea, but I see why she's worth the effort."

"Effort?"

She gestured towards Cordelia's concealed cage.

"The whole having to hide everything business," she said. "I know how hard it is."

"You were doing a pretty shit job earlier," I sat up slightly in the chair. "Telling that girl you'd curse her face off? Not clever, Lils."

She had the decency to look sheepish.

"I was mad," she said.

"Clearly." I grinned. I glanced at what she was wearing. It was one of my Falcons jumpers. "I'd change that jumper before Carla sees it if I were you..."

She looked down at it.

"It'll be fine." She shrugged.

Carlotta joined us, in a hoody and pair of jeans belonging to Lily.

"Who are the Falmouth Falcons?" she asked, sitting down on the other end of the sofa and tucking her knees up below her chin.

I shot Lily a smug look.

"School hockey team," Lily said smoothly, giving me the same look.

"Oh, do you play?"

She nodded.

"So, James went to a school in Scotland, and you're at one in Falmouth. Don't you like London?"

The first thing that came to mind was that Mum and Dad didn't live in London, but near Ottery St. Catchpole, which was where we'd grown up. I glanced warningly at Lily, hoping she wouldn't bring it up and raise suspicion.

"I like to be near the sea," Lily replied, with a shrug. "And if you're going to a boarding school, you may as well do it properly and go somewhere far away."

"Did your brother go to a boarding school too?"

Lily nodded again.

"Same one as James," she said.

"Are you doing your A Levels?"

A third nod. I could tell Lily was getting worried about letting something slip that she shouldn't.

"What subjects?"

Lily shot me a look that made it clear she was revoking all previous comments about Carlotta being a Muggle.

"Maths," she said slowly. "History. Chemistry. Biology."

"I did maths," Carlotta said. "If you get stuck with anything, give me a shout and I'll see if I can help you. Anyway." She turned to me. "Am I okay to raid your kitchen cupboards?"

"Go for it, if you're feeding me you don't need to ask."

She got up and headed to the kitchen, swatting at my head as she passed.

"Get us some mead, will you?" I called after her retreating back.

"Find yourself another kitchen slave!" was her response.

"I'm on it," Lily said, standing up. "Merlin knows I need a drink after that."

"If you hadn't worn that jumper, it wouldn't have been a problem."

"If you hadn't pulled the Muggle in the first place I wouldn't have been in that situation!" she hissed at me. "How the hell can you keep this up, James? If _I'm_ nearly slipping up, surely that says something about how hard this is? And all for just a bit of fun and games? It's madness. She's a lovely girl, she really is, but it's unfair on both of you."

With that she went to help Carlotta in the kitchen, leaving me with my confused thoughts.

* * *

><p>The following morning, after Carlotta left, Lily leapt into action.<p>

"Where the hell does that spell hide your Floo powder?" she asked, peering into all the various ornaments and other junk on my mantelpiece.

"No idea." I pulled my wand out of the coffee table drawer. "Why do you need Floo powder?"

"I need to get my stuff from Mum and Dad's," she replied. "And let them know I'm still alive."

"Don't, it'll only disappoint them."

Her response to that was to push me into the table.

We found the Floo powder in the airing cupboard, and she darted off to Mum and Dad's. I decided to stay behind and wait for her, rather than facing an inquisition about Carlotta from Dad. I spent the time reading the _Daily Prophet_, which only served to remind me why I didn't do so often. Sometimes I really wondered how Mum could allow herself to be associated with such a crass newspaper.

Lily returned after ten minutes with her bag.

"Mum was disappointed you didn't come too," she said, brushing herself off.

I shrugged. "Didn't fancy the third degree from Dad."

"He wouldn't have done anything, James." She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, he's seen you twice this year so far. Would it hurt to pay him a visit every now and again?"

"If he wants to see me, he can visit me," I said in a sharp voice to indicate the discussion was over. "You coming to training, then?"

"Can I?"

"If you're ready to go now, then sure."

"I'm ready," she said quickly. "Are we Apparating?"

I nodded. She crossed the room and took a hold of my arm. I wrapped my loose arm round her and Apparated us to the training ground.

"_Ugh_."

She bent over, her hands on her knees, and took several deep breaths. After a moment or two she stood upright.

"Hate Apparition?" I asked before she could say anything.

"How did you guess?" she asked dryly. "Can I dump my bag in your locker?"

"Go for it."

I followed her into the changing rooms and was greeted by most of the squad, apart from Ryan, as I might have expected.

"Lily!" Della cried, feigning surprise. "I didn't know you were around!"

I winked at her.

"I had a job interview yesterday!" Lily replied enthusiastically.

"How was it?" Roxanne asked.

"I don't like tempting fate, but I think it went pretty well." She grinned.

Just as we thought we'd covered for our previous night's escapades, Ryan blundered in.

"Did you get home alright last night, Lil?"

Della's head fell into her hands.

* * *

><p>Tuesday's training couldn't have gone any better. Ryan, Della and I remembered how to play Quidditch, and the others had all dusted off the cobwebs too. A few hours in, something clicked with Cato and Cleo, and by the end of the day, our confidence was through the roof. Even Sinead had a large smile on her face.<p>

"That's more like it!" she said as we all landed. "Off you go, kids, see you bright and early tomorrow."

Lily crossed the pitch to meet me as we headed to the changing rooms.

"James, do you think I could have a little fly?" she asked.

"Sure you can," I said. I handed Fiona over to her. "Just don't crash or fall off, or Mum will murder me."

She grinned, threw a leg over Fiona and kicked off the ground with a confidence that surprised me.

"She's _really_ not that bad," Ryan said.

"Don't say that in her earshot. She'll get some crackpot idea that she can replace me."

"Might not be so crackpot, after a bit more practice-"

I shoulder-barged him, which knocked him off balance.

"Behave, boys," Della said lazily. "Merlin's beard, who let her loose?"

"She's pretty good, actually," Ryan defended Lily.

"I'll give you that," Della said after a pause. "Then again, it should really be a surprise, should it? Look at her brother. Look at her _parents_."

Off she went again with the comparisons. I grimaced and looked down at the ground.

A few minutes later, Lily landed.

"I really should be going or Maddie will be wondering what's happened to me." She hugged Ryan and Della quickly, before turning to me. "See you for Grandma's birthday, Jim."

"Give my love to Maddie," I said cheekily.

"No chance. Reckon Cato's gone yet? I need a goodbye kiss..."

"Oh, no you don't," I said, trying to grab her as she gave me a fleeting hug and kiss on the cheek, before darting off. "Lily!"

But she was gone.

"Bloody hell," I said, shaking my head. "What's the big deal with Bagman, anyway?"

"Aside from the fact he's damn gorgeous?" Della suggested.

I stared at her, distraught.

"Not you as well!" I said. "He's not as good looking as me, though, is he?"

She hesitated.

"_Thanks_, Adelheid. Love you too."


	9. nine

Not much changed over the next week or so. Our performance in training improved, but we continued to defy Sinead's no drinking rule, as we always had during pre-season. We visited the Hinky a couple of times to appease both Della, who would live there if it were possible, and Roxie, who never had any Muggle money to hand and had to visit Gringotts to exchange her Galleons before going to the Tav every time.

I felt bad saying no when Carlotta rang to ask if I could meet her at the Tav on Thursday night. It wouldn't have bothered me normally, but turning her down again when I hadn't been there in over a week felt awkward.

"But surely your mates owe you, given that you've been going where _they_ wanted to go for the past week?"

"It's not that this time," I told her down the phone, trying to feed Cordelia one-handed. "It's my Grandma's birthday on Friday, I can't go out on Thursday night."

"But you go to _work_ the day after a night out, surely you'd be perfectly fine-"

"I'm not going out the night before her birthday. I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is, and the way it always _has_ been. I promise you, I'll come to the Tavern next week, but I can't do Thursday night."

"Okay." She sighed. "I'm beginning to forget what you look like, you know."

"Impossible," I declared. "I bet you've already got a photo of me under your pillow."

She laughed.

"Don't flatter yourself. Ring me when you're next free and I'll see if I am."

"Surely you'll be at the Tav either way?"

"Don't shatter the illusion. Have a nice day on Friday!"

I smiled weakly.

"I'll try," I said.

The truth was, Grandma's birthday could never be described as a 'nice' day.

* * *

><p>I bought her a present on Thursday afternoon. Brigid bought most people's presents for me, but I always bought Grandma's myself. I felt it would be insincere and dishonest if her present was thought over by somebody else, rather than choosing it myself. I bought the autobiography of a magical researcher, which had been published only the week before, a brooch in the shape of a phoenix, and some white lilies, which were standard for Grandma's birthday.<p>

When I got to Mum and Dad's on Friday, Al was already sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a mug of coffee with Dad.

"Morning," I said, falling into the chair that had been mine before I'd moved out.

"Coffee?"

"Please."

Dad got up to grab a mug from the cupboard.

"How's training going?" he asked, pouring out some coffee from the pot that sat in the middle of the table.

"Really good."

"Better than last year?"

I shrugged.

"I guess."

"Reckon you'll win the League this year then?"

"Difficult to say before we've seen the other teams play."

We fell silent. I looked down at the mug that Dad had placed in front of me and wrapped my hands around it.

It was down to Al to break the silence.

"How's Carlotta?"

"Is she the Muggle girl you've gotten involved with?" Dad asked before I could reply.

"Yes, she is, and don't start lecturing me because I've heard it all from everyone else."

"I'm _not_ going to lecture you, because you won't listen anyway. Just remember that as a senior member of the Ministry, it would look bad if my son were to breach the Statute-"

"I know," I said with a scowl. I should have known that Dad would make it about him.

The tension eased slightly as Lily entered the room.

"Your teachers are going to forget you exist if you keep skipping school," I said, before taking a large gulp of coffee.

"I've taken three days off this school year, thank you! I doubt you _went_ to lessons for many more than three days of your Seventh Year!"

"The exam results will tell you differently," I pointed out as she sat down next to me.

"How's school going?" Dad asked.

She shrugged.

"History's a _nightmare_."

"Told you not to take it," I interjected.

"It was fine until the teacher decided we needed to learn about witch hunting _again_," she said, grimacing. "And Arithmancy is _terrible_, I don't understand a word of it."

"I'll help you out with it later," volunteered Al, who'd been fool enough to choose Arithmancy as a subject himself. "You staying for the weekend?"

"Not decided yet. I might go to Diagon Alley tomorrow, and Mum thinks I need to show my face in a few houses while I'm home. I don't think I'd be Maddie's favourite person if I left her to deal with Rosalind by herself all weekend, though."

"She can look after herself." I shrugged.

"That's half the problem," Lily pointed out.

Mum entered the room, her coat and gloves already on.

"Lily, darling!" she said. "I didn't hear you arrive!"

"Got in a few minutes ago. Someone really needs to clean the grate, I was covered in soot and ash when I got in."

"Blame your father! I asked him to do it three weeks ago." She frowned and looked more closely at Lily. "Are you okay, darling? You look shattered."

"I'm fine," she replied with a nonchalant shrug.

Glancing at her myself, I realised she really didn't_ look_ fine. There were bags under her eyes and she looked generally worn out. I wondered if she'd been so tired when I'd seen her last week.

"I don't believe you," Mum said flatly. "You're overworking yourself. I told you when you picked your subjects that you would, you're working your nose to the ground. You'll burn yourself out if you carry on like this. I really think you should just drop a subject or two-"

"You've been telling me for the past four years that I'm doing too much, and I've been telling _you _for just as long that I'm_ not_. Besides, I _can't_ drop anything. I need all my subjects if I want to get into Muggle Liason."

"Well..." Mum hesitated. "In that case, maybe you should consider handing back your badge-"

"No," she said flatly. "It sets me apart from most of those I'm up against, and besides, it's not that much extra work. Giving it up would hardly give me any more time."

But Mum wasn't about to give up.

"Then maybe you should quit the team-"

Lily's glare was enough to silence her, which was no mean feat.

"No chance. Aside from anything else, Maddie would murder me. Besides, if I really _am_ working too hard, surely giving up my hobbies and leisure time to concentrate even_ more _on my schoolwork kind of defeats the object of reducing my work load."

"She's got a point," Al chipped in.

"Honestly, Mum, I'm fine," Lily repeated. "Maddie likes to make sure I have some time off from work, anyway. We popped into the village the other night when Muggle Studies was beginning to go wrong-"

"How can _Muggle Studies_ go wrong? That should be a walk in the park for you!" I said incredulously.

"You'd be surprised," she said darkly.

"What were you doing visiting the village during the week?" Mum frowned. "Surely that's not allowed?"

Lily shrugged.

"Never mind," she said. "I'm sure we'll live."

"You're _Head Girl_-"

"Given the number of rules _you _broke at school, the fact that you never even _made_ Head Girl _and _the little issue of breaking into the _Ministry_, I really fail to see how you have so much as a little toe to stand on, let alone a leg."

Mum's mouth snapped shut.

"You've got me," she conceded after a moment. "Come on, we need to go."

There was a loud scraping of chair legs as we got to our feet and grabbed our presents. Dad was first to Disapparate. I followed, Apparating next to him at the safe point just outside the village. Al arrived next, with Mum and Lily bringing up the rear.

Dad was silent as he led us along the lane. He was always quiet at times like this. Mum slipped her hand into his and reached back to take Al's hand with the other. Lily grabbed Dad's free hand and reached her other hand out to take mine.

We turned with the lane, reaching the square, with its war memorial in the centre. Dad walked past it with barely a glance, but as I passed it, I paused to look at the statue of my grandparents, with Dad in my grandmother's arms. Lily's hand slipped out of mine.

After a moment I moved on and caught up with the others as they reached the graveyard.

The remnants of the flowers we'd laid on Christmas day still lay at the foot of the gravestone. Dad was the first to set down his presents, which he'd tucked into his cloak pocket. Lily followed, then Albus, and finally I laid the book and brooch down beside the other items. We all stepped back, Mum glancing furtively around the graveyard, and Dad pulled his wand out of his cloak pocket, and aimed it at the presents.

"_Incendio_."

Flames shot out of his wand and licked at the presents and flower residue on the ground, eventually turning them to ashes. Then Dad laid a fresh wreath of lilies on top of the small mound of ash, and Lily, Al and I added our bouquets on either side of it.

"Happy birthday, Mum." Dad's voice was almost a whisper.

Mum grasped his hand tightly, while his other hand fastened around my shoulder. Lily slipped her arm through mine and Al slung an arm over Mum's shoulder and we stood, all five of us, staring at the gravestone, which marked deaths so brave and tragic that I could barely begin to comprehend just how incredible my grandparents had been.

This was one of the few occasions a year when we ever presented a united front.


	10. ten

"Promise me you'll be nice."

"I'm always nice-"

"You're never nice."

"Keep saying that and I won't be nice to _you_ again," Brigid said loftily. She was standing in front of the mirror, pinning her fringe back, but turned to look at me. "Why don't you think I'll be nice, anyway?"

"Because you're usually about as friendly to girls I'm seeing as Lily is."

"You said Lily liked Carlotta," Brigid pointed out.

"Yes, but she still got a snarky comment in first. So, no snarky comments, Murph, or you'll upset me-"

"And Merlin knows my life wouldn't be worth living if I were to do that."

"Precisely," I said with a satisfied nod.

A week had passed since Grandma Lily's birthday; another week of hard training and nights out on the town. I'd appeased Carlotta by dropping in at the Tav earlier in the week, then had a couple of nights at the Hinky with some of the squad. Of course, despite our efforts to keep them secret from her, Sinead knew all too well about all our nights out and rewarded us for one of them with a punishing weights routine. Tonight, I'd finally managed to persuade Freddie and Brigid to come to the Tav. They both complained about being short of funds so often that I'd stopped believing them and assumed it was just a poorly disguised rejection. Several members of my family, a couple of members of the squad and a few Bats and Kestrels players were also joining us.

"Bet she's excited to be seeing you." Brigid sat down opposite me and propped her feet up on her coffee table.

"You'd tell me off for doing that," I pointed out.

"My table, my rules. Stop changing the subject. Were things beginning to get a bit too serious for you? Did you decide it was time to back off?"

"No, I've just been at the Hinky more, and I can hardly take her there, can I?"

"The results would be interesting," she conceded. "Where the bloody hell is that boy?" She sighed and glanced at her watch. "He's at least ten minutes late..."

"You ought to know his timekeeping is terrible," I said.

Just then Freddie arrived, armed with several bottles of Firewhisky. He threw one to me and I caught it deftly and twisted the cap off. He set the others down on the coffee table, and fell back into the sofa next to Brigid.

"Watch my springs," she grumbled as he draped his arm over her shoulders. "Do I not get a bottle?"

He tutted, but reached forward to grab two bottles and hand one to her.

"What did your last slave die of? And I wish you wouldn't do that," he added with a wince, as she pulled the cap off with her teeth. "You'll break your teeth one day and you won't be getting any sympathy from me, that's for sure."

"Yes, _dad_," she grumbled, throwing the cap in his face. He caught it and stuffed it down the front of her dress. She squealed, trying to fish the cap out.

"Need help getting that out?" he asked, grinning cheekily.

"Don't worry yourself. You've probably never touched a woman's boobs before, I wouldn't want you to get overexcited."

I turned my attention to my bottle of Firewhisky, studying the label intently, but I couldn't stop a smile spreading across my face at their flirting. It reminded me of how they used to be, before Freddie had seemed to lose interest – or rather, other girls had also gained it.

"Oi, Potter!" Freddie called, dragging me out of my musings. "Brie says you're seeing this Muggle bird again."

I frowned.

"Yeah, I am. Why?"

He shifted slightly in his seat, his arm still draped round Brigid's shoulders.

"It's just ... I didn't think it would last this long," he said. "I thought, the first time you hooked up with her, that it was just a one-off thing, you getting shot of Lynch and just having a bit of fun. I mean, you were with Leggy Allegra a couple of nights before, weren't you? But you've met up with the Muggle a fair few times-"

"She has a name," I said sharply. "And so what if I have? She's a laugh, she doesn't take herself too seriously, she's not looking for any commitment, she's a damn good cook-"

"But she's a _Muggle_!" he said. "And I don't mean that to be a slight on her character at all. I'm sure she's a lovely person; Lily's said as much, and we all know she doesn't take nonsense from anyone, but the fact remains, she's a Muggle, you're a wizard, and the Ministry are taking the Statute of Secrecy as serious as ever! All it takes is one small slip for her to find out about us, and _Merlin_ knows what that would bring about."

Brigid stared at Freddie in amazement.

"You know, that was actually a sensible, well-made point," she said. "You do surprise me sometimes, Weasley."

"Got to keep you on your toes." He ruffled her hair. "Seriously though, mate." He turned back to face me. "Is this realistically going to work out?"

I sighed heavily.

"It just seems like _everyone_ is preaching at me about the whole thing," I said.

"Look, you know me, I'm the last person to lecture you – or anyone for that matter – about what you choose to do with your life. Normally, I'd be saying to go for it, and to do what you want without listening to the crap Murphy and everyone else spurts out. But in this instance," he continued, ignoring Brigid's indignant cry, "there's a lot hanging on it if it goes wrong. Just my two Knuts' worth."

"Nothing is going to go wrong," I said firmly. "Trust me, I know what I'm doing. It won't go wrong."

* * *

><p>In hindsight, a night out in a Muggle nightclub with several members of my family, my agent, all the unmarried members of the Falcons squad and numerous other Quidditch League players wasn't the ideal plan. Then again, I wasn't exactly renowned for my good planning.<p>

"If we all get out of here with the Statute of Secrecy intact, it'll be a bloody miracle," Rose muttered to me and Ryan as we sat at the bar. Carlotta was yet to arrive.

"You need to lighten up, Weasley," replied Ryan, who was never fazed by anything. To him, the presence of more than twenty drunken witches and wizards in a Muggle establishment wasn't a problem.

I wouldn't have been bothered if Eoin and Feargus Lynch hadn't turned up along with Aisling, a teammate from the Bats. I wasn't too impressed with her for bringing them; not I was scared of them, but I did quite like my nose the shape it was.

"She can't, it's in her nature to worry about anything and everything. Haven't you met her mother?" I chipped in.

"Oh, Rosie," Ryan sighed and slung an arm round her shoulders. "It's alright, we can still cure this. A wild ride on the Murphy joystick would lighten you up no end."

"Never let me hear you say that again."

Brigid had just joined us, though the look on her face suggested that she wished she hadn't.

"Well, don't interrupt when I'm making my move!" he protested.

Brigid turned to Rose.

"I profusely apologise," she said. "He's normally not allowed out after six."

"Oh, go snog Freddie," Ryan scowled.

Brigid replied with a rude gesture.

"What time's your bird getting here, Jimmy?" she asked me. "I'm quite keen to meet her properly."

"Have you not already?" Rose chipped in.

Brigid shook her head.

"Seen her once, didn't say a word to each other. You?"

"James dragged me along once when she was working here and he'd ran out of drinking partners. I didn't talk to her either though."

"I've properly met her," Ryan said.

"What's she like?" Brigid asked.

He shrugged.

"Fit. Nice legs."

"Funnily enough, those weren't the attributes I was interested in."

"They're the only ones James is interested in, why should anything else be relevant?"

"Because, rather surprisingly, I have differing tastes to James," Brigid said dryly.

"She held her own with mini Potter, if that helps at all."

"I heard about that," she said with a grin. "She sounds thoroughly likeable on that basis alone."

"Why did you ask me if you've already heard all about her?" Ryan asked.

"I wanted your opinion!"

"I gave you my bloody opinion, and you weren't interested!" He rolled his eyes. "Bloody women. Anyway, Quiggers looks like she needs rescuing, and I wouldn't want to deprive her of her knight in shining armour."

"Careful, Murph, you don't want to get on the wrong side of a Lynch," I warned, glancing across to where Aisling was sitting with Eoin Lynch.

"It's alright, Junior, I'm big enough and strong enough to look after myself. Don't bother waiting around for me."

And with that, he headed towards Aisling like a man possessed.

"You can't take some people anywhere," Brigid sighed. "I really hope he doesn't get with Aisling. It would make things so awkward..."

"Now _you're_ the one who's worrying." I nudged her shoulder. "Get some drink down you, Murph. Be frivolous, for once in your long-suffering life."

"It's only long-suffering because you make it so," she said dolefully. "It'd be so much easier if I didn't have to worry about what bint you've got in your bed on any given week."

"I sincerely apologise for being the source of such trouble," Carlotta cut in dryly, having appeared out of nowhere.

"Oh no, it's fine, it's just most people book their appointments with James through me," Brigid replied breezily.

I winced.

"You'll be Bridget, right?" Carlotta continued with a raised eyebrow.

"It's Brigid actually, but I'll forgive you the slip; most of James's women tend to be lacking in brain cell count."

"I must say, I definitely think my brain cell count has shrunk since I've started spending time with James and his motley crew. It must be adapting to its surroundings."

"A snappy comeback _with_ a jibe at Jimmy included? I don't know how he keeps up with you, you're far too sharp for him," Brigid said with a smirk.

"We don't spend all that much time talking, so it's not too much of a blow to his ego. Anyway, can I get you a drink?"

"Ooh, I _do_ like you." Brigid set her empty glass down on the bar counter. "I suppose I can force myself."

"Don't feel too special, Brie, she gets them for free," I said.

"I don't have to though," Carlotta pointed out. "And on that note, I won't be getting _you_ a freebie. You can bloody well buy your own." She turned to Rose. "And you'll be a cousin, right?"

"I am, much as I try to deny it. And yes, a drink would be lovely, thank you."

"Well, nobody can accuse you lot of beating round the bush," Carlotta said with a slight shake of the head. "You want a drink then, James?"

"If you're offering, then I wouldn't want to disappoint you." I grinned and she rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as she turned to the bar.

I glanced around the bar to see what everybody else was doing and groaned. Freddie seemed to be getting friendly with a girl in the opposite corner.

I turned back to the girls and opened my mouth to speak, but Carlotta caught my eye and gave me a warning glare and a slight shake of her head, as she handed me a drink. When she turned to give Brigid her drink, I shot another glance at Freddie. His hand was now dangerously far up the girl's leg.

"Don't keep looking over there, idiot. You'll draw her attention to them," Carlotta hissed in my ear, as she slipped her free arm round my waist.

"When did you notice he was there?" I asked, half-burying my head in her hair to stop Brigid from overhearing.

"Walked past him when I came in. It's fine though; we just need to keep her attention away from him all night."

"Yeah, cause _that'll_ be easy," I said sarcastically.

She smiled slightly.

"I've got it covered. Go do some boy stuff with some of your entourage, just make sure you behave and come back for me at the end of the night. I fully intend to crash at yours regardless of your intentions."

"I always leave a spare key under the doormat, so if you get desperate it's not a problem."

A smirk played at the corner of her mouth. "My word, things _are_ stepping up. I'm not sure if I like feeling so trusted all of a sudden. Now off you go, I don't want to see you for at _least_ two hours."

I obeyed her. I was too scared of her wrath not to.

Not that I'd tell her that.

* * *

><p>The next weekend Gryffindor were playing Hufflepuff at Hogwarts. Hugo had been Gryffindor's Keeper since my Fifth Year, his Second, and was now also Captain. Five of us had made the house team. I'd been the first, as Victoire, Dominique and Molly had all preferred spectating to playing, and ever since my first game, the entire family had made an effort to attend all of our matches.<p>

Mum turned up at mine in the morning, as usual and restocked my kitchen cupboards. Then we Flooed to the Three Broomsticks to meet up with Dad, Al, Uncle George, Aunt Angelina, Freddie and Roxanne. I immediately made a beeline for Freddie to prevent an awkward conversation with Dad, whom I hadn't seen since Grandma Lily's birthday two weeks before.

"How long till your first match?" Freddie asked, as we made our way out of the pub.

"Three weeks, mate."

"Bloody hell, that's still ages away!"

"You wouldn't think that if you heard Sinead at training. It may as well be three days away, the fuss she's making. She has no faith in us at all sometimes, which is quite worrying given that she's the one who signed us all. I'm getting slightly nervous about your sister though, she's far too good. I'm gonna be looking over my shoulder all season if I'm not careful."

He wrinkled his nose.

"Don't let her hear you say that, or she'll get as big-headed as you," he advised.

"I'm not at all big-headed, I'm just confident in my ability," I defended myself.

He snorted with laughter.

As soon as we reached the castle, I decided to visit the kitchens.

"You've just had breakfast!" Albus said.

"Was there something wrong with it?" Mum raised an eyebrow.

"Not at all," I said hurriedly. "I just want to visit Kreacher. I've not seen him in a while."

Mum's brow was still raised.

"If you say so." She didn't sound convinced. "See you in the stands then. And try not to cause too much trouble."

"Me, cause trouble? What would give you such an idea?"

"You're my son, James," she said simply.

Nobody else was up for a trip to the kitchens, so I made my way there by myself. Several of the students pointed and stared as I passed them, but that was something I was used to. It had been happening since I was at school and had only increased since I'd made the Falcons first team.

Lily was in the kitchen when I entered, tucking into a plate of bacon and eggs.

"Morning, greedy." I sat opposite her.

"Didn't get to eat breakfast this morning," she explained. "Maddie overturned the porridge bowl."

I frowned.

"Why did that stop you eating breakfast?"

"She was holding it over Rosalind's head at the time."

I laughed loudly.

"Needless to say," she continued, "she got into trouble for it. She's in our room at the moment, been ordered to spend all day there, bless her. Which reminds me. Kreacher!"

He appeared beside us.

"Yes, Miss Lily?"

"Can you take some food to Maddie, please? She's in our room. Take whatever's easiest; she's not fussy."

"Yes, Miss Lily," he replied. He turned to me. "Can Kreacher get Master James anything?"

"Toast, please," I said with a grin.

Within moments, Kreacher had vanished and another house elf materialised next to me, with a plate of toast above its head.

"Thanks," I took the place. "Um, any chance of a goblet?"

A third house elf promptly handed me one.

"Cheers!"

I poured myself a glass of pumpkin juice from the jug in front of Lily.

"So, Maddie's in a bit of trouble, then?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Of course she is. You know what Rosalind's like; has to make a massive deal out of everything. Bloody bint." She scowled. "You should've heard the godawful squeal she let out when the porridge landed on her."

"But Maddie did it deliberately?"

"Of course she did, she's Maddie. Rosalind was making jibes about her dad again."

I scowled. Maddie's dad was a sore conversation topic with her.

"They not punishing Rosalind?"

"Probably not. Her dad funds too much of the school."

"So does Dad-"

"I'm _not_ using Dad's generosity to have my own way all the time," she said flatly.

"But you're Head Girl, surely you have sway over the teachers?"

She let out a laugh.

"When it comes to Maddie, I'm the _last_ person they listen to, James."

Kreacher reappeared next to Lily.

"Kreacher has taken some food to Miss Maddie, who sends her gratitude," he said with a bow.

"Thank you, Kreacher!" Lily said, beaming. "Was anyone else there?"

"Yes, Master Kit was there."

"I knew he'd have snuck in." She smirked. "Thanks, Kreacher."

He sunk into another bow, before vanishing back into the hub of the kitchen.

"How are Maddie and Kit?" I asked.

"Fine, porridge incidents aside. Maddie sends her love-"

"And I return it whole-heartedly."

She grimaced.

"I really wish you two didn't get on, it would make my life so much more bearable."

"Really?"

"Well, no, but at least I wouldn't have to put up with you two flirting every time you see each other."

"As I've said countless times before, you flirt with Murph all the time! Pot, kettle, much?"

"He initiates it," she sniffed. "He's an animal, that boy."

"And yet, I seem to remember that it was _you_ who planted a smacker on him the other week..."

"I was drunk," she defended herself.

"Rubbish excuse. Point being, you behave round him and I'll behave round Bennett."

"James," she said loftily, getting to her feet, "you _never_ behave."

* * *

><p>The match was over within ten minutes. It was a bit of a shame, as it meant we didn't get to see Hugo's team properly in action, though he did make a spectacular save the one time that Hufflepuff actually had an opportunity to score.<p>

As the match had been so short, we all headed back to the Three Broomsticks afterwards for a few celebratory drinks. I didn't stay for too long. Having Dad, Uncle Percy and Molly all in the same room as me was off-putting and a situation I tended to avoid whenever possible, so after brief chats with Al, Aunt Audrey, Uncle George, Nana Weasley and Hugo, I said my goodbyes and Apparated back to the flat.

The first sign that something was wrong was Cordelia's loud, startled squealing. A millisecond later, the squealing was drowned out by an ear-splitting scream from behind me. I span round sharply, drawing my wand, to see the third sign – the moving photo of Lily and Brigid that belonged on my coffee table, was lying on the floor, its frame smashed, at the feet of Carlotta. Her hands were clasped to her mouth, as she stared at me and the wand I had trained on her, wide-eyed and pale-faced.

"Shit."


	11. eleven

I didn't know what to do. In my seven years at Hogwarts, I'd learned a lot (well, perhaps not _that_ much) but never had I been told how to deal with a Muggle finding out about magic. Did I bluff my way out of it? Explain the situation? Obliviate her? None of those options were particularly appealing. I ruled out the third almost straight away; I wouldn't trust myself to perform a memory charm at the best of times.

"Carla..."

She squealed and took a step backwards, glancing behind her, as though checking her route to the door was clear.

"Don't hurt me..." she said in what was barely a whisper, taking a second step back.

"I'm not going to hurt you, I promise." I tried to sound soothing, though it wasn't particularly my forte, and put my wand back in my pocket. Her eyes followed it, then snapped back up to my face once the wand had vanished from her sight.

"Let me go," she said quietly, "let me leave..."

"No, Carla, wait-"

I made as if to approach her, raising my arm. She screamed again and backtracked hurriedly until she hit the wall behind her. She glanced to her side, towards the door.

"Carla, please, don't leave, not yet, let me explain-"

She dashed to the door, yanked it open and ran out, slamming it shut behind her.

"Shit!" I said again, kicking the leg of the coffee table in frustration. There was a slight chink of broken glass as the table bashed against the broken picture frame, which was lying on the floor where Carlotta had dropped it. I drew my wand, pointed it at the photograph with a shaking hand, and said "_Reparo_!" The shards of glass flew towards each other, reassembling themselves on top of the photograph. I knelt down and picked it up, watching Lily and Brigid twirl round in the snow.

It was only then that I noticed the heavy pounding of my heart. I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself, and stood up.

It was Lily I needed right now. She'd know what to do. But she was currently at the Three Broomsticks, with the rest of my family, and if I was aiming for damage limitation – which, of course, I was – then alerting my entire family to the fact that I'd broken the Statute of Secrecy wasn't a good idea.

I'd broken the Statute of Secrecy.

_Shit_.

My gaze moved to Brigid. She was my second option, and currently my only one, as everybody else who might help, like Aunt Audrey, Dominique, Rose or Teddy, was also at the Three Broomsticks.

Brigid was going to go nuts.

I took another couple of breaths to calm myself. It didn't help; if anything, the more I thought about telling her what I'd done, the more terrifying it became. After all, that was the Ministry's prime reason for existence, the Golden Rule that was drilled into all wizarding children, the underlying message in every lesson at Hogwarts. And in one stupid moment, with the help of one stupid little piece of metal that I intended to help uphold the Statute, I'd gone and broken it.

The irony wasn't lost on me.

I set the photograph back down on the table, closed my eyes for a moment in one last-ditch attempt to prepare myself for what was to come, then Disapparated.

Brigid's living room materialised around me. She was curled up in her favourite chair, reading a book. She looked up as she heard me Apparate.

"James!" she said with a smile – unlike Rose, she didn't mind me literally dropping in on her. "I didn't expect to see you today! Has the game finished already?"

I decided not to beat about the bush.

"Carlotta's found out about magic."

Although perhaps a more gentle approach would have been more effective.

Brigid's jaw nearly hit the floor.

"James, tell me you're joking."

"Of course I'm not joking, why would I joke about something like this? Carlotta turned up at my house and saw my photos, Cordelia, everything! And then I bloody Apparated in at the same time, and drew my wand on her!"

"Shit." Her hand flew to her mouth, just as Carlotta's had a few moments before. She stared at me for a moment, before lowering it. "Why did you draw your wand on her?"

"I didn't know it was her! I heard a scream, and Cordelia squealing! She was behind me at the time!"

"Well, what the hell was she doing in your flat when you weren't expecting her?" She rose to her feet, looking as flustered as I felt.

"I don't know! We hadn't quite gotten that far, funnily enough, exchanging pleasantries wasn't too high up on the agenda given that she'd just seen me materialise out of nowhere! She used my spare key, the one I keep under the doormat! Either that or she's an expert at breaking and entering, and I highly doubt that."

"Why do you keep a key under your doormat? You don't need a key, you're a wizard!"

"I can hardly use my wand to unlock it if there's a Muggle there, can I? And you know me; I hardly ever remember to take a key with me if I don't leave the flat by the door."

She sank back into her chair and opened and shut her mouth a few times, before finally finding words.

"I – James – I'm beyond speechless." She groaned and leaned back in the chair, her hands over her face. "The one time you're proactive on upholding the Statute..."

"I've worked that out, funnily enough. Any ideas on what we do?" I was beginning to get antsy.

"Well, get in touch with the Obliviators, of course. Once they've done their job it'll all be fine, although you'll have a mark against your name of course, breaking the Statute is a serious issue, and you'll have to be doubly careful in future, I don't think I'll be letting you anywhere near Muggles for a long while-"

"Brigid," I interrupted her, "we can't go to the Ministry. I don't even know where she lives!"

She frowned. "Have you never walked her home?" She didn't give me a chance to answer. "Oh, who am I kidding? This is you we're on about. Know her surname?"

"Not a clue."

"Well, that'll make things slightly more difficult, but the Ministry will manage; they have their ways. And Al has met her, right?"

"They've been introduced-"

"Well then, that's fine, he can help them out-"

"I don't want her to be Obliviated, Brie," I cut in.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Well, what's your suggestion then? She knows about magic, James! You've broken the Statute! She _has_ to be Obliviated, we can't just leave her knowing about it-"

"She doesn't know _what_ she knows, all she saw was-"

"A moving picture, a squealing ball of purple fur, probably a broomstick too, knowing your inability to put things away, and you pointing a bloody wand at her! She may not have twigged the whole thing, but she fact remains, she saw it and that constitutes a Statute break. Besides, I think a moving photo is enough to freak out anyone." She paused. "What exactly _was_ her reaction to all this, anyway?"

I shrugged. "She'd already dropped the photo, probably just before I Apparated in. And then she screamed a couple of times. She didn't say much, she just looked scared. I told her I wasn't going to hurt her, and asked her to stay, just so I could try to smooth things over I guess, but she left pretty sharpish..."

I felt a dull pang in my stomach as I remembered the expression on Carlotta's face, the look of sheer terror as I tried to approach her...

"Merlin, we've gotta do something, Brie," I continued, falling back into the settee behind me. It was a mark of the seriousness of the conversation that she didn't scold me for breaking the springs.

"You think?" she said sarcastically. "I've told you, Obliviate her."

I shook my head.

"I can't," I said. "I just _can't_. Wipe a month from her memory? It's _beyond_ cruel..."

"It wouldn't be totally wiped, just the bits with you. The Obliviators are clever like that."

"That's still a fair chunk of memory to lose!" I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. "Lily said she'd never do it again. She said it was horrible, that she wished she'd never done it. You saw the affect it had on her-"

"Hers was a different case," Brigid said sharply. "Carlotta is some bird you've been shagging for a few weeks, you can't try to claim it would have an adverse affect on you if she were Obliviated. There's nothing else to do, James! You can't just leave her knowing about it! Aside from anything else, it's cruel on her..."

Carlotta's terrified face sprung back into my head again. I groaned and rested my head in my hands, but I could still see her face, as though it were burned into the insides of my eyelids.

"Surely there's another option..."

"Well, yeah, you could try hunting her down and explaining it, but I can't see that going well, she's probably petrified of you now, and given that you don't know where she lives-"

"She works at the Tav most nights," I supplied.

"No. You are _banned_ from the Tav, James Potter. I told you this would happen! I told you countless times! But did you listen? No, you just carried on without a care in the world. And now you come running to me to fix it when it all goes wrong!" She drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

"I'm sorry," I said in a small voice, my head still in my hands.

"It's okay, Jim. Everyone makes mistakes. It's about learning from them, that's all."

"It's not okay if I've broken the Statute..."

There was a pause.

"Don't tell Mum and Dad." I raised my head to look at her. "Please. They don't need to know. They'll be so angry if they find out..."

She shuddered, presumably at the thought of Mum angry.

"There's a high chance they will, given how high up your Dad is in the Ministry, the Obliviators would be bound to let it slip-"

"There won't _be_ any Obliviators," I glared at her.

She sighed.

"Let's sleep on it, and talk about it tomorrow. But I really don't see any other option."

* * *

><p>The next morning, I visited Rose. I walked round the corner to hers, as I knew that she wouldn't appreciate me Apparating into the flat she and Albus shared.<p>

She was in her dressing gown and slippers as she answered the door to me, and her hair was a mess; she'd clearly just gotten out of bed.

"This early? Really?" she groaned. She wasn't known for being an early riser.

"Is Al in?" I asked.

She frowned.

"No, he's at work. Why, have you come to see him?"

"No, I've come to chat to _you_ and I didn't want him here." I shifted my weight from one foot to the other nervously. "Can I come in?"

She glanced behind her for a moment.

"I – yeah, I guess."

She stepped backwards and opened the door wider for me to enter.

"You'd better have eaten, cause I'm sure as hell not feeding you," she said as she shut the door behind me.

"Yeah, I've eaten."

I sat down gingerly on one of the seats in the lounge. She took a seat opposite me, looking slightly puzzled.

"You don't seem yourself this morning. You okay?"

I bit my lip.

"Something bad's happened."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Carlotta's found out about magic."

Rose suddenly looked wide awake.

"She's found out about magic," she repeated slowly.

I nodded in trepidation.

"Bloody _hell_, James." She clasped her hands together on top of her head, and stared across the room, seeming deep in thought. "You're an _idiot_ sometimes," she said after a pause.

"I know."

I must have looked as downtrodden as I felt, because she sighed heavily and lowered her hands.

"Oh, Jimmy. You don't half know how to get into trouble." She paused again. "Bloody hell..." She shook her head, her unruly mane of hair quivering violently with the movement. "Have you reported it to the Ministry yet?"

"No. And I don't want to tell them, I don't want her memory tampered with..."

"Well what the hell else do you suggest?"

Rose was incredibly similar to Brigid in some ways and her reaction to my news was proving to be much the same. Now the news had sunk in, she was getting angry with me, and I knew that once that was out, the pity would come. To be quite honest, I didn't want either.

"How did she find out, anyway? I suppose you did something idiotic-"

"She let herself into my house yesterday when we were at the game," I said shortly. "She saw the photo of Lily and Brie that's on my coffee table, she saw Cordelia, she possibly saw Fiona too. Then I Apparated in right in front of her..."

Rose's head fell into her hands.

"James," she groaned into them. "You're a fool, a bloody fool! And you think you can just get away with not telling the Ministry?" She raised her head, flinging hair everywhere. "You've broken the Statute! The _Statute of Secrecy_, James! There's a Muggle out there who knows about our world when she's not meant to! Imagine what could happen! She could tell someone. She could think that she's going mad! The poor girl must be terrified! You can't not tell the Ministry!"

"I know! But I don't want her Obliviated, Rose!" I said firmly. "She'll lose parts of a month of her memory! That would be enough to make her think she's gone mad!"

"Better that than her remembering this," she said solemnly.

"But..." It was my turn to, once again, bury my head in my hands. "Rose, she's cracked so many new recipes at mine, cooking's a huge thing for her, she wants to own a restaurant one day, and if she can't remember how to cook things..."

Rose was silent. I raised my head to see her looking wretched.

"I know, James. I _know_. It's a hard thing to do. But you have to remove all personal feelings in this situation, and just think about things practically. She can't be left knowing about this. It's cruel on her, _and _it's a security risk."

I chewed my lip.

"Would she tell anyone?" I said quietly. "I mean, who would believe her? They'd just think she'd gone a bit nuts-"

"_She_ probably already thinks she's going nuts," Rose said gently. "Please, James, you have to..."

I shook my head stubbornly. She sighed with aggravation.

"Well, I don't know what you expect to be able to do then..."

"I could find her, try to explain-"

"Won't work," she said flatly. "This situation's bad enough, without you making things worse."

"You sound like Brie," I scowled.

"Have you told her?"

I nodded.

"Yesterday, straight after it happened. Don't tell Al," I begged. "Please, whatever you do, don't tell him, or anyone else. I can't have Mum or Dad finding out..."

She looked reluctant.

"James, I don't know if I can keep something this serious a secret-"

She was interrupted by the presence of somebody else at the doorway.

"Malfoy?"

Rose let out a squeal. She jumped up and ushered a boxers and t-shirt clad Scorpius Malfoy out of the lounge and down the hall.

"Bloody hell," I breathed, staring at the space where he had stood for a moment.

Half a minute later, Rose returned, her face as red as her hair.

"Rose Weasley, you do surprise me." A smirk played at the corners of my mouth.

She stood opposite me, looking sheepish.

"Don't be mad-"

I frowned.

"Why the hell would I be mad?"

"Because he's a Malfoy! The enemy! A Slytherin, the son of our dads' nemesis, you know the drill-"

"Rose, he's not his dad," I said quietly. "Nobody should judge him on that. I certainly don't. I don't really know him, but if he makes you happy then I'm not exactly going to kick up a stink about it. How long have you been with him, anyway?"

"We're not really _together_," she said, still looking awkward. "We're just ... seeing each other occasionally. I bumped into him a few months back at work, and it's been developing since then. I'm kind of trying to keep it quiet though, at least for the moment, just to see what comes of it. I don't want to ruin anything, you see. We have quite a judgemental family sometimes..."

She tailed off, looking nervous.

"You do what you want to do, Rosie," I said firmly. "It's your life, not your dad's, or your brother's, or Grandpa's..."

She nodded and smiled slightly.

"Thanks, Jim," she said quietly. "Promise me something?"

"Sure."

"Don't tell Al?"

I grinned.

"Your secret's safe with me," I reassured her. "It'll all work out in the end, don't worry."

I only wished I could believe my own advice.


	12. twelve

"You've really gotten yourself into a pickle, Jimmy." Lily sighed, stirring her tea lazily.

"I'm aware of that, Lil." I stared into my own tea cup, wondering whether it could have given me some advice on what to do, had I studied Divination. "So, what can I do?"

"There's only one thing _to_ do," she said quietly. "You know that. Deep down, I think you know that all you can do is have her Obliviated."

This was one of the reasons why I'd wanted to go to Lily in the first place. Unlike Brigid and Rose, she didn't get angry often. She was more likely to respond with disappointment and while that made me feel incredibly awkward, I tended to respond to anger by getting angry myself, which never helped.

The other reason I'd needed to talk to Lily was that she was the only person who truly knew what I was going through.

"What's it like?" I asked gently. "Having someone Obliviated?"

Her face fell. It wasn't something she liked talking about. In fact, she'd barely talked to anyone about it; the only family members she'd confided in were Mum, Hugo and Teddy.

"Horrible," she said dully. "I mean, it's not as though removing someone's memories is an easy thing to do at the best of times. I couldn't be there when they did it. I didn't want to watch it." She paused, but I remained silent, not wanting to interrupt her. "I still see him around sometimes. He smiles, and waves, sometimes he says hello. But I can't bring myself to respond. Why should I? For those few hours when he knew the truth about who I was, he loathed me. I can still remember that look he gave me as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. Like I was the scum on the bottom of his shoe. But, of course, he doesn't remember a thing. That's the hardest bit. Not the actual act of taking away his memories, but knowing what he would really think of me, if he still knew. Knowing that I probably look like the bad person, by not wanting to have anything to do with him, when the reality is so different. Knowing that he has no idea what he did..." She paused a second time. "It's not so bad now. It's been three years, it gets easier to deal with. Those first few months afterwards were awful though."

For a moment, I didn't know what to say.

"I never realised it was that bad for you..."

"I didn't want to burden you. You, or anyone else. I mean, you had your own worries. You were doing your N.E. at the time and looking into Quidditch teams to join. I had Maddie and Kit to help me through in the end."

"But then, if it's that bad, should I-"

"You don't have a choice," she said firmly.

I frowned, and swigged my lukewarm tea.

"Maybe it would just be easier if the Statute didn't exist?"

"That would never work," she said flatly. "For every Muggle who can just accept the wizarding world, there are a hundred who need a month or so to adjust to it, and a thousand who just can't accept it. That's why the Statute exists in the first place and why we have the Obliviators and the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee. The very idea of magic is so impossible to them that it scares them, and that fear leads to loathing, and that's when our existence is threatened. The Statute is for our self-preservation; it has to exist, or we won't survive."

I knew all this already, of course; I had studied Muggle Studies up to N.E.W.T level, and Muggle attitudes to the wizarding world were on the curriculum. But Lily was far more of an expert on wizarding/Muggle relations than anybody else I knew, and so I let her talk.

"And yet, there are more wizard/Muggle relationships now than ever before..." I mused.

"Well, yes, but the general rule with that kind of thing is to not let the Muggle know until it's really serious; that way there's more chance of them accepting it, and less chance that they'll just leave without a trace. There are still countless instances when the Muggle isn't accepting, unfortunately. But yes, there are more Muggles who know about us than there have ever been before. But then, that's the way it has to be if we're to stop ourselves dying out."

"But you think Carlotta needs to be Obliviated?"

"Well, for a start, it was hardly serious between you two, was it?"

I shook my head.

"She was a nice girl, much better than the last few, and I reckon I could have stuck with her for a while ... but you know me, I'm not looking for commitment right now."

"Still saving yourself for me?"

Maddie and Kit joined us at the table we were sitting at, in the corner of the quiet tea shop which they and Lily often frequented at the weekends.

"Of course, Mads," I said fondly and ruffled her hair. "You alright?"

"Marvellous. How're you holding up now your Spanish lover has left you?"

"You know me, I'll soldier on."

"You having her memory wiped?"

"We were just discussing that before you ever so rudely interrupted," Lily said delicately. "In my opinion, if her initial reaction was one of fear, then there's little hope of her adjusting to it. Like I said earlier, if she did then she'd be in the minority." She glanced slightly at Kit as she spoke. "And besides, even if she _did_ come round to it, then what would you do? It's not as though you and her were going to last. You'll probably never see her again now, and so it's dangerous to leave her knowing about us."

"Although very few Muggles would run off and tell their friends about the wizarding world, in fairness, for fear of looking like a complete nutter," Maddie chipped in.

"But some might," Kit said quietly. "It's not worth the risk."

Lily nodded, and I knew she was thinking of the Muggle she'd had Obliviated.

"Obliviation it is, then," Maddie said softly.

I sighed heavily.

"I don't want to do it."

"Neither did I. I didn't have a choice, and neither do you. If you don't have her Obliviated, and it gets out that she knows, then the consequences could be catastrophic. She found out three days ago, she could already have told people. She might yet do so. Yes, she's a nice girl, and yes, it's a horrible thing having to wipe someone's memory, but _you have no choice_. And I know you've heard this from Brie, and I know you don't _want_ to hear it, but you have to. I'm sorry, Jim, but you have to."

I didn't respond.

"I need a cuppa. You having one, Kit?" Maddie got to her feet, giving him a questioning look.

"Coffee, please. God knows I need one after traipsing round the shops with you all morning."

"I was _going_ to buy you a drink, Christopher, but after that _you_ can cough up for _mine_. Come on, hand it over." She held a hand out, across the table. Kit pulled a face, but dug into his pocket for some change.

"You two want anything?" Maddie asked Lily and me.

"What, I'm buying the whole bloody round now, am I?" Kit rolled his eyes and dropped a fistful of coins into Maddie's hand. "Go on then, drinks on me, if I must."

Lily and I both opted for a refill, and Maddie headed to the counter.

"How's training going?" Kit asked me.

I shrugged.

"Okay. Same old, I guess. We just want to get out there and play now, you know? I mean, we've been in pre-season for nearly five weeks now, and there's only so much you can do without feedback from the games."

"No worries of a hangover from last season?"

"No, I don't think so. We won the season before last, and that didn't affect us last season."

"You guys have to make sure you don't get _too_ confident though. You're only as good as your last game, remember," Lily chipped in.

"You had a change of career path? Going for sports psychology now?" I jeered light-heartedly.

"Whatever you do," Kit said warningly, "_don't_ utter those words in the earshot of Madeleine."

Lily shuddered.

"She's been reading all these books," she said darkly. "She's like a woman possessed! I swear, we get a different mantra every day! Not even Kit escapes from it. If she _ever_ asks to come to an open practice, for God's sake don't let her."

"Sounds like she'd get on well with Sinead," I said. The prospect of two of them wasn't an appealing one.

"When does the season restart, then?" Kit asked hurriedly, as Maddie reappeared with a tray of steaming drinks.

"Two and a half weeks," I said promptly, taking my tea.

"How the hell do you know that? You barely remember when family birthdays are, let alone your fixtures!" Lily said incredulously.

"Brie told me yesterday. And the day before. And the day before. And ... well, you get the point. You tend to remember something when it's drummed into you that rigorously."

"Okay, then, here's a test for you. Who are you playing?"

"Tornados."

Lily winced.

"Tough fixture first up."

"Yeah, but it's at home. Means we avoid playing at their place this year, with how the season's been chopped. We have to go to Portree and Kenmare later in the season though, they'll be difficult; the Pride and the Kestrels were both shit hot last year."

"Nasty," Lily agreed. "What about the Bats?"

"Home. Last game of the season."

Her eyes lit up.

"Potential title decider, that one. What a game to draw at home! You _have_ to get us tickets, Jimmy, that'll be a cracker."

"So long as it's not in the literal sense." I really did _not_ like the Lynch brothers' bats.

"Get the Bagmans to take them out in the first minute and the game's yours. Where's the Cannons match?"

"Chudley. So that's as good as another home game, they're terrible."

"You shouldn't be too cocky about it, or you'll trip up," Maddie said warningly. "A team is only as good as its last game, you know."

Lily and Kit both suppressed groans.

"Nice bit of sports psychology there, Mads," I said innocently. "You been reading up?"

Lily kicked me in the shin.

"Just been doing a bit of extra studying on it all," Maddie was oblivious to Lily and Kit's anguish. "I figured you can never be too clued up on how the mind works, you know? Thought it might help us a bit. And I think it's working, right, Lil?"

Lily nodded slightly over-enthusiastically.

"The biggest thing that they emphasise is that one of the keys to being successful as a team is to be exactly that – a team. I know it's fairly self-explanatory, and you hear it all the time, but it's so true. You can't have a player thinking they're bigger than the team-"

"In that case, why is Rosalind still on the team?" Lily grumbled. "If ever there was a person who had an inflated opinion of her self-worth, it would be her."

"I know, but the only reason she's not our highest scorer this season is because she's been out with injury. She _is_ good, you know," Maddie said begrudgingly.

"Only cause she hogs the ball," Lily moaned. "Okay, she's good, but she bloody knows it."

"Well, that's what I'm trying to quash."

"And were the porridge oats meant to help that?" Kit asked with a grin.

"No, she was just doing my bloody head in," Maddie scowled.

"I tried telling her that porridge was good for your hair. You know, diffusing the situation and all that, like I do. I'm not sure she believed it." Lily shrugged. "What more can you do, eh?"

"So who _is_ your highest scorer this season?" I chipped in.

"Lil, of course, by a country mile." Maddie swirled her tea with her finger.

"Not by _that_ many," Lily rolled her eyes. "You're exaggerating again-"

"She's scored eight more than Gracie and twelve more than Rosalind. Don't listen to her false modesty, Jimmy." Maddie shook her head in fake disapproval.

"That's what I like to hear. Tearing up the league, following in your big brother's footsteps," I grinned.

"_Now_ who's bigheaded?" Lily said dryly to Maddie. "Honestly, James, sometimes I wonder how you all fit in your changing rooms, what with all the egos."

"We all bounce off each other, it's fine," I smirked. "Feed off each other's confidence and all that."

"I wouldn't let yourselves get too confident if I were you," Maddie said warningly. "Remember, a chain is only as strong as its weakest link-"

She was cut off as Kit stood up, reached over the table and stuffed a napkin into her mouth, despite her squealing protestations.

Lily looked at Kit, crestfallen.

"I wanted to do that."


	13. thirteen

It was back to the Hinky for Freddie, Brigid and me at the end of the week. Brigid was determined that it would be our last time and was making no effort to hide her glee about this.

"I never liked those daft Muggle drinks," she said while getting ready in front of the mirror in my room. "Give me a Firewhisky any day."

"Or Heidelberg mead," I added slyly.

I saw her glare at me through the mirror and Freddie turned a laugh into a hacking cough.

"That was one time," she said haughtily. "Besides, you get completely trashed at least once a month; you can hardly rib me for it."

"Oh, but I can," I said, shifting slightly to make myself comfier on my bed, "_because_ it's a regular occurrence from me, and it's _not_ from mature, respectable, ladylike Brigid Murphy-"

This time Freddie couldn't disguise his laughter.

"Oh, stuff it." Brigid sounded disgruntled. "It's only ever you two who make a big deal out of me drinking, you know. Nobody else bats an eyelid. I _like_ going out, just in case you hadn't twigged. Especially if it's at the Hinky, because it's a cheap night. In fact, that's another reason I prefer the Hinky; all the free drinks and perks we get."

Freddie voiced his agreement and I tried to hide my displeasure. People always tried to convince me that those perks were due to my fame as a Quidditch player, but I knew they weren't. None of the other Quidditch players received as many benefits as I, and by extension Freddie and Brigid, did, and more to the point, Al and Lily were treated in much the same manner as I was. It wasn't hard to work out why this was the case.

"You going for Leggy Allegra later?" Brigid continued, pulling her hair back into a bun.

I shrugged.

"Dunno if she's out tonight."

"Oh, she is. She was in the Leaky earlier with some of her mates; they all looked dressed to impress. You've got with her before, haven't you?"

"Couple of times, here and there. I don't keep track of these things."

"She's a nice girl," Her tone was casual but she glanced meaningfully at me.

"Mmm," I agreed.

"Just remember you've got guests over tonight." She brandished her hairbrush at me. "No sexy times tonight for _you_."

"That's what Silencing Charms are for, Murph," Freddie butted in cheekily.

"Don't _you_ go encouraging him, Weasley," she added sternly, turning the hairbrush on him, but her smile softened the effect. He grinned roguishly, and her cheeks tinged pink as she turned back to the mirror. I rolled my eyes and made a mental note to talk to Freddie later about the situation.

* * *

><p>Unfortunately, things didn't quite go to plan.<p>

The spanner in the works came as we were on our way home. It was just the three of us – Allegra had been at the Hinky but, much to my disappointment, she had had to leave early to see to one of her friends, who was rather the worse for wear.

The walk home involved passing the Tav. Brigid kept glancing nervously at me as we approached, as though she was scared I was going to try to go inside. I could sense her sigh with relief as we safely passed the door.

I almost missed her, tucked away in an alcove just past the doors, out of sight of the bouncers. Then a slight movement caught my eye.

She was in a huddle on the floor, and appeared to be trembling. I couldn't quite see her face; it was hidden by mounds of thick, curly, jet black hair. But I recognised the spicy scent that I'd come to associate with her, and the slightly dark skin tone that came from having a Spanish mother.

"Carlotta?"

I knelt down and brushed the hair away from her face, then tilted her head up. Her eyes were glazed over, as though she'd drank far too much.

I heard Brigid groan behind me.

"James, we're not getting even more tangled up in this mess," she said shortly.

"You suggest we leave her here?" I said incredulously, turning my head to look up at her.

"No, but we can tell one of the bouncers, and they'll find someone inside who can look after her. James, for Merlin's sake-"

Ignoring her protests, I stood up, and lifted Carlotta with ease, one arm under her shoulders, the other under her knees.

"James, put her down!" Brigid hissed, her eyes flashing. "You've already done enough damage, without risking the Statute even more!"

"I'm not leaving her until I know she's okay, Brigid," I said firmly, and walked off up the road, towards the block of flats where I lived. Carlotta was still trembling, and seemed unaware of where she was.

"James!" Brigid ran to catch me up. "She _will_ be okay, if we just let the bouncers find someone to look after her – Fred, help me out here!"

"It's no good trying to persuade him," he said, strolling along behind us. "You know what James is like, he's as stubborn as a hippogriff."

Brigid groaned with aggravation.

"I wish you'd grow some bloody balls, Weasley," she snapped. "James, think about _her_, how scared do you think she'll be when she wakes up in the morning and realises she's back at yours? See, this is why you should have just had her Obliviated in the first place!"

I didn't answer.

"Oh, Merlin, you're not going to try to _explain_ it all to her, are you? Because that would go down _fantastically_ well..."

The idea had crossed my mind only moments earlier. Despite what Brigid, Freddie, Rose and Lily had all said, I still felt strongly that I didn't want her memory wiped if there were any other options available to me. This seemed like the ideal opportunity to try to rectify my mistake.

"Well, on your head so be it," Brigid said, "but don't go getting me involved. I want it to be known that I was fully against this from the start-"

"Shut up, Brigid," Freddie said quietly.

"Oh, so you're on _his_ side now-"

"I'm not on anyone's side, but you're not going to change his mind, and besides, you really shouldn't be yelling all this _here_, or _you'll_ be the one breaching the Statute. Besides, nobody's making you come back anyway."

"Don't be stupid," she said loftily, "_someone_ has to keep an eye on you both."

I remained silent as I reached the front door to the flats, and waited for Freddie to open it for me. He rolled his eyes discretely as he held the door open.

Brigid was still muttering under her breath as she followed us up the stairs. At my door, she shot a surreptitious look up and down the corridor, before quickly unlocking it with her wand. She ushered us in, and shut the door behind her.

I headed to my room, but Brigid reached the door first and blocked it.

"I don't think so," she said, drawing her wand. "I've got this covered."

She levitated Carlotta out of my arms, and steered her into the spare bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind them both.

I sighed with frustration and turned back to Freddie.

"What's got _her_ wand in a knot?" I said, irritably.

"She's just worried about the Statute, and the trouble we could get into. And she's got a point, not that you need me to remind you of that. She just doesn't let things go though; that's her problem."

"But you agree with her?" I sat down opposite him and propped my legs up on the coffee table.

"Course I do. Carlotta's a Muggle, she's found out about magic, and more to the point she's freaked out about it. Doesn't bode well. If I were you I'd have gotten the Obliviators in straight away-"

"Would you, though?" I interrupted. "I mean, it's easy enough to say that it's the right thing to do, but it's not quite so easy to actually _do_ it."

"It won't hurt her, you know," he said quietly. "And they'll only take the bare minimum. They don't even need to take away all the memories with you, just the one where she saw the picture and stuff. They can even implant a false memory to solve the issue of having to see her again. It's the best option there is. It's the _only_ option, to tell the truth."

I frowned.

"You know, sometimes you almost sound clever, Freddie," I said.

"Just trying to keep you on your toes." He grinned. "Don't let Brie nag at you, though."

We fell silent as the door to the spare room opened and Brigid slipped out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

"I've put her in a pair of Lily's pyjamas. She doesn't seem to have a clue where she is still, and she's shaking weirdly, but hopefully she'll go to sleep soon. I conjured a glass of water and left it on the bedside table, so if she wakes up in the night and needs a drink she's got one. I don't think there's anything else we can do. You still adamant you're not getting the Obliviators in? Now would be the ideal time to do it..."

I glared at her.

"Okay, point taken." She sighed. "Anyway, I'm going to bed. Try to keep the noise down, so you don't disturb her. And _don't_ try going in there, just leave her be. Okay?"

We both nodded. Satisfied, she headed into my room and shut the door.

"I love how she always assumes she can have my room," I sighed and conjured up blankets for me and Freddie.

"Least your sofas are comfy," he replied, helping himself to a couple of blankets and lying back on one of them, adjusting a cushion behind his head. He paused. "You gonna try talking to her tomorrow morning?"

I didn't need to ask who he meant.

"It's worth a shot, isn't it?" I said.

"You're lucky," he said slowly. "If it works ... if she comes round to it ... that'll be the biggest cop-out of all time from you."

"I know." I stared up at the ceiling.

"What will you do after, though?" he continued.

I shrugged.

"I have no idea."

* * *

><p>I was woken the next morning by the smell of food coming from the kitchen. Freddie was already awake, and in the process of finding the Quidditch channel on the television.<p>

"Brie's cooking breakfast," he explained unnecessarily. "Your Spanish princess hasn't surfaced yet."

I nodded and turned my attention to the live Quidditch game. The match was an Australian league fixture, between the Thundelarra Thunderers and the Woollongong Warriors. The two teams were fierce rivals and their games always involved numerous fouls and vicious injuries. Currently, the Thunderers were eighty points ahead, but this was to be expected. I knew that their Chasers were the three current Australian national Chasers – but, perhaps more importantly, the Warriors were fielding the national Seeker.

Brigid appeared with two steaming plates of food and handed them to Freddie and me. She wrapped her arms round my neck and planted a kiss on my cheek.

"I'm sorry I was an ass last night, Jim," she said.

"It's okay," I said, examining my breakfast. "You were just trying to do what you thought was the right thing."

"Yes, well, I still think I'm right," she said sternly.

She headed back to the kitchen and returned moments later with her own plate of breakfast.

"Thunderers have got this in the bag," she said, as they scored another goal.

"Nonsense," I said. "If the Warriors catch the Snitch now, they've won. The Thunderers need to be about two hundred ahead before they can begin to breathe a bit easier."

Another Thunderers goal.

"As I was saying," she continued, "the Thunderers have got this."

"Bet you ten Galleons they haven't," I said with a smirk. "Go on, put your money where your mouth is."

"Deal," she said flatly. "You in, Freddie? You can have the draw." She grinned.

"Screw me over, why don't you?" He scowled.

The Thunderers scored another three goals in quick succession, but the Warriors pulled one back, leaving them a hundred and twenty points behind. I was beginning to get twitchy, and Brigid's cocky smile was growing wider.

"Still confident the Warriors are going to win?" She got to her feet. "Here, I'll take your plates out."

"Thanks for the grub," I said, handing my empty plate to her. "And yes, I'm still confident. Any second now, and their Seeker will find the Snitch, just you wait."

"We'll see about that," She grinned.

The door of the spare room opened, distracting her.

Carlotta peeped out of the small gap between the door and the frame, looking unsure.

"Morning," Brigid said gently before I could say anything. "Do you want me to cook you some breakfast? You must be starving."

Carlotta hesitated.

"I won't bite, you know." Brigid smiled. "Pass us your plate, Fred, I'm not bending down for it. And why can you never eat your bacon rind?"

He grinned cheekily, but picked his plate up off the floor and handed it to her.

The Thunderers scored again.

"I can feel that twenty Galleons in my pocket," Brigid said smugly, heading to the kitchen. "You coming?" she added to Carlotta, who was still hovering in the doorway.

Carlotta hurried across the living room, shooting a furtive look at me as she did so, and followed Brigid into the kitchen.

"Least she's awake," Freddie said quietly.

"She's still trembling, did you notice?" I frowned. "Her right arm was going like the clappers – oh, bugger."

The Thunderers scored once again.

"It's not looking good for you," Freddie said gleefully.

"Whose side are you on?" I said indignantly. "Oh, bloody _hell_!"

The Warriors' Keeper had just been taken out by a Bludger that had been superbly aimed by one of the Thunderers' Beaters.

"Won't make much difference, they may as well have not had a Keeper – ooh, now this is getting interesting!"

An full-on brawl had broken out between both teams' Beaters, which resulted in all four of them being ordered off the pitch.

"The ref would do that _after_ the Keeper's been taken out," I groaned.

"You don't need the money anyway," said Freddie, but he sounded sympathetic. "Bloody hell, that was against the run of play!"

For the Warriors had seized the Quaffle at the restart, made their way up the pitch and scored.

"Come on, Wilson, find the bloody Snitch!" I groaned.

"What's happening?" Brigid called from the kitchen.

"Put the bloody wireless on!" Freddie retorted.

"Just tell me!"

"Shit," I moaned, my head falling into my hands, as the Thunderers scored again.

"Your guys are one-forty up," he updated her.

"Still think the Warriors will win, Potter?" she said gleefully.

"There's still time," I called back, before swearing loudly as a Thunderers Chaser scored a stunning goal from near the half-way line – as one could when the opposition had no Keeper and no Beaters.

"It's game on now!" Freddie laughed. "Oh, bloody hell-"

I sat bolt upright.

"What's happened?" Brigid called again.

"They've seen the Snitch!" Freddie and I called back at the same time, eyes glued to the television.

"Come on, guys, just one more goal, _one more goal_ and it's in the bag!" I said desperately, willing the Chasers on.

"They're not gonna do it!" he said, a smirk on his face. "Their Chasers are _hapless_. Wilson will get the Snitch alright, it's just a case of whether the Thunderers manage to score again first-"

"Who's got the Quaffle?" I cried. Now the Seekers were in hot pursuit of the Snitch, it was as though everyone had forgotten that the rest of the game was still going on. "No, Wilson, wait, don't catch it _now_-"

Wilson pulled out of his dive, raising his clenched right fist, which held the struggling Snitch. At the same time, Freddie rose to his feet, arms aloft in the same manner.

"Hand us your Galleons, Potter!" he said happily.

"Don't say they drew!"

Brigid appeared in the doorway, looking crestfallen.

"Yup," I said, downcast, as I handed Freddie a fistful of gold.

She groaned.

"That sounded exciting as well, they couldn't wait thirty seconds for me to finish cooking, could they?" She sighed, shaking her head.

"Cough up, Murph," Freddie said, still beaming widely.

"Are you joking? You didn't even want to bet-"

"If you won and I tried to use that excuse you wouldn't be having any of it, so that won't work. _You_ decided I was having the draw, you can bloody well pay up!"

She groaned, but picked up her bag from where she'd left it the night before.

"I hate you," she scowled and rummaged through her purse. "You'll have it in Knuts, right?"

"No, I bloody well will not," he replied firmly. "For a start, if you've got enough Knuts for that then _you're_ nuts..."

"Hold your hands out," she instructed.

He moaned as she dropped piles of silver and bronze coins into his hands. Some of them spilled onto the floor.

"Could you _be_ any more difficult?" he grumbled, as he poured them into his pocket and collected up what had been dropped. "I bet that's not ten Galleons, either-"

"Well here then, have a couple of Galleons to ease your mind." She handed him two of the gold coins.

"Thanks." He scowled.

"You're welcome!" she beamed. "Anyway," she continued, lowering her voice, "we should go. She's eating at the moment. She seems okay, just very scared. Whatever you do, Jim, _don't_ scare her any more. I won't tell you to get the Obliviators in, because I know you won't."

And with that, she Disapparated with a quiet _pop_.

"Good luck, mate," Freddie grinned, before disappearing himself, with a slightly louder _crack_.

I got to my feet, and paused for a moment to gather my thoughts, before heading into the kitchen.

Carlotta was sitting at the table, picking at the plate of food in front of her. She looked up, a slightly alarmed expression on her face.

"There's no need to be scared," I said quietly, sitting down at the other end of the table to her. "I'm not going to hurt you."

She didn't look reassured.

"I'm sorry," I continued. "You weren't supposed to find out that way."

The words hung unsaid between us. _You weren't supposed to find out at all._

She took a small bite of toast, chewed and swallowed, before asking her question, so quietly I could barely hear her.

"What _are_ you?"

"I'm a wizard," I said, in the same quiet tone. "I can do magic."

Her eyes widened.

"But ... that's impossible, magic doesn't exist-"

"Of course it does. You saw it with your own eyes, last weekend. That photograph."

She shuddered, as if the memory was a scary one – which, admittedly, it probably was.

"And, you all can? Fred, and Brigid, and-"

"Yeah," I said.

She licked her lips slowly, processing the information.

"What ... what can you do?"

"Anything. Well," I amended, "_nearly_ anything. I could levitate you, turn your hair blue, turn you into a cat..."

She was beginning to look alarmed.

"Not that I would!" I added hastily. "In reality I doubt I _could_, I was never that hot at human Transfiguration. I know the theory, though. Let's think ... I could unlock a door, conjure up water – or anything, really, so long as it's not food – make something vanish, light or put out a fire, make something bigger or smaller, repair an object, fix a broken nose..." I was trying to think of things that wouldn't freak her out, and it was proving to be surprisingly hard. "I can show you something, if you like?"

She nodded.

Her eyes widened as I drew my wand and aimed it at her plate and she pushed her chair back slightly, away from the table.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!"

She let out a small noise as the plate rose from the table, hovered about ten inches above it, before coming to rest back on the table again.

"That was weird..." she murmured.

"_Accio_ glass!" I said, aiming my wand at a glass on the side. It flew towards me and I caught it deftly with my left hand, setting it down on the table in front of me. "_Aguamenti_!" Water flowed out of the end of my wand, into the glass. "_Locomotor_ glass." I steered it across the table, until it sat in front of her. Her facial expression was unreadable.

"Try it," I said with a grin. "Go on, I've not poisoned it."

She smiled faintly, and picked up the glass. She took a sip of the water.

"That ... that's really cool," she said, putting the glass back down in front of her. "But ... why doesn't everyone know about you, about magic?"

"They used to." I put my wand down on the table. "But back in the fourteenth century, Muggles – that's what we call non-magical people – began to grow scared of magic and started persecuting magical people. There were loads of witch burnings. Course, no real witches or wizards died; they just cast Flame-Freezing charms which cooled the fires. One witch, Wendelin the Weird, loved the tickling sensation so much that she let herself be captured forty-seven times ... but that's not relevant. Anyway, it got so bad that in 1692 the International Confederation of Wizards decided to create the International Statute of Secrecy, which meant that the entire wizarding world went into hiding, and that's how it's been ever since." The only reason I knew all the specifics was that Lily was studying History of Magic and ramming the facts down my throat at every opportunity apparently _helped her revise_. "And you and I together managed to break that Statute last weekend," I added with a wry grin.

"Is ... is that serious, then?"

"Of course it's serious, you could threaten everything we've spent over three hundred years trying to protect! You pose a huge security risk to the wizarding world."

"I've not told anyone, though," she said hurriedly. "I mean, what would I tell people? They'd think I'd gone mad! _I_ thought I'd gone mad. Besides, I didn't even know what it was that I'd seen, I just knew that it freaked me out..."

"But _now_ you know," I leaned forwards on my elbows, trying to hold back the smile that was playing at the corners of my mouth.

She frowned.

"So why tell me, if I'm not supposed to know?"

"Because ... I didn't exactly _want_ you to think you were mad, did I? I've been worrying all week about what you'd be thinking. You seemed petrified when I just appeared out of mid-air last weekend-"

"Can everyone do that?" she cut in. "You know, materialise at will?"

"You have to learn, and have a license," I said, "but yes, most witches and wizards that are of age can Apparate – that's what it's called."

"That _is_ cool..." she said. "So, what are you supposed to do if a non-magical person finds out about magic?"

"Have your memory of it wiped."

She winced.

"You can _do_ that?"

"Like I said, you can do almost anything with magic." I shrugged. "The only exceptions are that you can't bring someone back from the dead, you can't make people genuinely fall in love, and there are restrictions on what you can conjure. You can't conjure up food from nothing, for example. Aside from that, almost anything is possible, including some very gruesome stuff which I wouldn't dream of doing. And memories can be manipulated. If I'd done things properly, I'd have called in the Obliviators – that's what they're called, the people who wipe memories – and you wouldn't have remembered a thing. But I didn't like that thought. I still don't. That's why you still have those memories."

She frowned again.

"So ... you were just going to leave me knowing..."

"I didn't have a clue what to do," I confessed. "Then, when I saw you last night, I figured, it was worth trying to explain it, to avoid having your memories wiped. On that note, what was wrong with you last night? You seemed really ill..."

She waved an hand airily – her left one. I noticed that her right arm, the one that had had the tremor, was resting on her lap, out of sight.

"Just drank too much. Nothing to be too concerned about. Thank you, by the way, for looking after me. Anyway, back to this magic business."

I had to hide a grin. It was amusing how interesting she now seemed to find magic.

"What happens now then? I mean, I know about magic and I'm not meant to. So..."

"Muggles are allowed to know about magic, in exceptional circumstances," I said with a shrug. "Witches and wizards marry Muggles all over the place, for example. I know this isn't exactly exceptional circumstances, but the point is, you knowing about us isn't the problem, it's the security risk that your knowledge poses. So, this is where you now promise not to tell a soul."

"Yeah, because people would really believe me." She rolled her eyes. "Of course I won't _tell_ anyone." She paused. "Doesn't that mean you're gonna have to keep an eye on me, to make sure I won't tell anyone."

"Well, I can't say Brigid would be too happy if I just let you wander off into London and never saw you again." I leaned back in my chair. "You don't _have _to carry on knowing. We can still have your memory wiped-"

"NO!" she said loudly. "I ... I mean ... I find it interesting! I _want_ to know ... if, if I can, that is..."

"Sure you can," I said, shrugging. "You're lucky I think you're alright, if you annoyed me then you'd have had your memories wiped as quickly as possible."

She pulled a face.

"Thanks for that," she said. She looked down at her plate, which she had abandoned a long time ago. "I don't know though ... I mean, won't I find it weird, being surrounded by loads of people who can disappear and reappear anywhere, and unlock doors with a wand, and _fly_ – I saw that sport on the television, they were flying on _broomsticks_ – when I can't do a thing magical?"

I shrugged again.

"Maybe. But then, Lily, my sister, manages, doesn't she? So there's no reason why you shouldn't."

She cocked her head to one side.

"What do you mean, _Lily _manages?"

"Well, she's a Squib, isn't she? Not an ounce of magic in her."

Carlotta's eyes widened.

"Really? Is that common?"

"Not at all. In fact, it's really rare; there aren't many at all. Children of witches and wizards are nearly always magical and one parent being magical is enough. Witches and wizards can be born into non-magical families too. My Aunt Hermione's parents are both Muggles, and my Dad's mum's parents were both Muggles too. But Mum's family is magical as far back as time, near enough, and so was Dad's dad's family, so people found it really odd when it turned out that Lily was a Squib. They have no idea how it happens at all, it just does occasionally."

"_Squib_. That's a horrible name. Poor Lily..." Carlotta fell silent for a moment. "That must be horrible for her, not being able to do magic when everyone else can..."

"I think she was pretty gutted at first – I mean, I can't even _imagine_ what it must be like being the only non-magical person in a magical family – and there's a lot of us, Mum was one of seven and there's twelve of my generation – but she's really made the best of it. She goes to this boarding school near Falmouth, and she loves it. She's Head Girl this year, and she's in the school hockey team, and she plays a couple of other sports too. She wants to be the Muggle Liaison for the Ministry of Magic when she leaves school, so she has to do wizarding subjects as well, to get the relevant grades to do the job. If she gets the top grades, though – and I think she will – she'll probably be the most appropriate person for the job. I mean, she's lived in the Muggle world for years now."

"What subjects does she do, then?"

"She does four Muggle subjects ... sometimes I forget what they are, obviously I never did them ... maths is one, history another ... chemistry, is it? The one where you blow things up?"

Carlotta giggled and nodded.

"And the planty one."

"Biology, you mean?" she supplied.

"That's the one," I said. "She picked wizarding and Muggle subjects that went together, to make it easier for her, cause it's one hell of a workload. She only does the theory side of the magical subjects, obviously; you need magic to do the practicals but anyone can learn the theory. So she does Arithmancy, which is to do with magical properties of numbers, History of Magic – that's self-explanatory – Potions, which basically involves blowing things up, and Herbology, which is all about magical plants. Oh, and Muggle Studies, which is as it sounds, the study of non-magical people and how you lot live. I did that as a N.E.W.T subject – they're the exams we do in our Seventh Year. She has to do it, it's the one subject the Ministry of Magic require for the position of Muggle Liaison. On the whole she finds it a doddle, but some of the questions are daft, even Lily's mate Maddie can't answer them and _she's_ a Muggle."

Carlotta's eyes were wide as saucers once again.

"That's a lot of work..."

"Mum thinks it's too much. But Lily has to do at least three subjects at school, and the Ministry generally like five N.E. so she says she can't drop anything. And she won't quit the sports teams because that's where she gets her free time, and she won't quit as Head Girl because it looks good and she says there aren't all that many responsibilities on her shoulders anyway, so it's not too bad. But yeah, sometimes I wonder how she manages it all. It's incredible, how she's turned being a Squib into a positive."

Carlotta nodded, seemingly lost for words.

"So," she said after a moment, "do any of her school mates know?"

"Two of them do," I said. "Maddie, she's been Lily's best mate from the start, she was in the next bed in her dorm in their First Year. Maddie's Head of Games and captain of the hockey team. And then there's Kit, he doesn't go to the same school, because it's an all-girls' school, he goes to the boarding school at the other end of town. But his parents work at Lily's school, so he met them both in their First Year. They both found out about magic about four years ago. Maddie didn't take too much persuading, Kit found it harder to adjust to, but now they're fine with it."

"But nobody else knows?"

"A few of the teachers at the school know, obviously – including Kit's parents – but aside from that, nobody knows. She told one of Kit's mates a couple of years back – she was dating him for a while and decided she wanted to tell him, but that backfired big time, and they had to have him Obliviated. She doesn't like to talk about it, but it upset her a lot at the time."

"Poor thing..." Carlotta murmured. "She must wish she didn't have to keep it secret-"

"You'd be surprised. She's in the best position to judge on it, and she says we have to stay hidden. The reaction of this guy she was with says it all. She thought he cared about her enough that it wouldn't faze him, but it did. So she just has to get on with it. We all do. It's not easy, but it's that or be persecuted."

She winced.

"So, what do you do for a living then?" she asked. "I really doubt you told me the truth last time. It doesn't seem like you told me the truth about _anything_, to be honest..."

"I only lied where necessary, and most of the time I didn't even do that, just twisted the truth. And I play Quidditch. That's the sport we were watching earlier. Played on broomsticks. Our season starts in a couple of weeks, actually."

"How do you play it?"She sounded interested. "And what team do you play for?"

"My team is called the Falmouth Falcons. Pure fluke that it's near Lily's school. It's the team that Brigid's mum coaches, which is why I play for them. Brie's my agent actually; she represents a lot of players. Anyway, you have seven players on a team..."


	14. fourteen

The next day, I decided to visit Lily. Apart from our chat over tea in the village near her school, which, conveniently, wasn't far from the Falcons' training ground, I hadn't been to see her once this year. This was a far cry from last year, when I had seen her at least once a fortnight.

As usual, I Apparated into a face full of clothes. I often wondered whether Maddie was just taking the piss at the beginning of their sixth year, when she'd suggested modifying Lily's wardrobe to make it big enough for us to Apparate into. She'd claimed she'd gotten the idea from a Muggle novel, but that didn't stop me feeling ridiculous every time I stepped out of the damned thing.

I pushed the clothes aside to reach the doors, and looked through the peephole that Dad had added, wondering, as always, why nobody had inquired as to why a wardrobe needed a peephole. Mum had always said that Muggles weren't always particularly observant, though, so perhaps this was the reason.

The fact that I could see through the peephole was in itself a good start. Lily covered it up when she didn't want visitors, a foolproof ploy, as both Dad and Aunt Hermione had drummed it into us to only open the wardrobe door if we knew for a fact that the coast was clear. That, and I was fearful about what I'd find.

Lily's room was empty, but the deliberate positioning of the wardrobe allowed me to see straight through the doorway opposite into Maddie's adjoining room, where Maddie was sitting at her desk, and Lily was perched at the end of the bed. A statuesque blonde was standing at the threshold of the main doorway to the corridor. I winced; run-ins with Rosalind Wentworth-Farlington never ceased to put both girls in bad moods.

"I'm not playing you, and that's the end of it," Maddie was saying firmly to Rosalind.

"But I'm the best right inner-"

"When you're fit. You're not fully fit, and I'm not playing you until your ankle's better. For a start, you'll jeopardise the rest of the team. And besides, I want you fit for the sevens in three weeks. You've already missed more training than I'd like, but you're one of the fastest players we've got and so I need you in the team. Give it another week, like the doctor said, and you can start training again. I'm not putting you in the team for Saturday though."

"You're just leaving me out because you don't like me-"

"Do you _honestly_ think I'd leave my best right inner out deliberately? Tallulah's good, she really is, but she doesn't quite link up with Lily and Gracie like you do. So, trust me, I'd be playing you if I thought I could risk it. But I can't."

Rosalind looked irritated.

"At least let me train-"

"_Give it another week_. Next Sunday we've got sevens training. Come along to that. You _are_ keeping up with your running, aren't you? I can't have you flaking out after five minutes-"

"Of course I'm running," she snapped. "And I'm _fine_, my ankle's fine, just let me play-"

"Maddie's already said no in almost every way possible; how long will it take for you to get the message?" Lily interrupted lazily. "Now, if you've got nothing more to add to the conversation, would you please leave? I've got mountains of work to do and we want to watch the boys' rugby game later."

Rosalind glared at her, before storming out of the room and slamming the door firmly behind her.

"Bloody _hell_, she's a nightmare," Maddie groaned.

"I wouldn't play her even when she's fit, if I were you-"

"And this, my dear, is why I'm captain and not you. She's too good to not play her."

Satisfied that the coast was clear, I knocked loudly on the wardrobe door.

"Come out!" Maddie giggled.

I rolled my eyes at the years-old joke and pushed the door open.

"And he emerges from the closet again." She grinned. "I thought you'd forgotten about poor little us; you haven't visited in ages!"

"Decided on a change of scenery." I shrugged and joined Lily on Maddie's bed. She had settled back against the headboard and was throwing a Quaffle up in the air and catching it. "That sounded like a lovely conversation..."

Maddie groaned.

"No matter how many times I tell her, she never listens." She deftly caught the Quaffle that Lily passed to her, then quickly passed it on to me. "She thinks it's favouritism, that I _choose_ not to pick her. It's a nightmare, because she's good, but she _knows_ she's good, and she thinks she has a God-given right to start every game, even when it's not fair on everyone else. Yes, she could possibly play on Saturday, but I refuse to risk it."

"What's this sevens thing you were on about?"

Maddie's eyes lit up, as she sat up in her chair. Lily groaned.

"Seven-a-side hockey!" Maddie said excitedly. "Lottie, Robbie and I play it when we're home; there's a mixed tournament over Christmas that our local team enters. And one of the schools nearby has decided to set up a sevens tournament! All-girls, luckily, or we'd be stuck. It's the same as normal hockey, just less players. You get mini-hockey which is played on a half-size pitch, but this form is on a full-size pitch. It's gonna be _knackering_! But good."

I turned to look at Lily, who was grimacing slightly.

"You playing in it?" I asked.

"Course she is," Maddie jumped in, "she's one of our fastest and fittest players. That's what you need for sevens, speed and endurance. That's why I need Rosalind fit for it. We've been planning this for a few months now, and Lottie and Robbie have been coming to our training sessions to help out. It took a while to convince people that it was a good idea, but I think they're coming round to it now."

Lottie and Robbie were Maddie's older siblings. Lottie had been to the same school as Maddie and Lily, while Robbie had attended the boys' school that Kit went to. I'd met them both a few times when visiting Lily. Like Maddie, they were both sport-mad – it seemed that it ran in the Bennett family.

"So you need to make sure you're free for that, James," Maddie continued, "at least just for the Sunday, because that's finals day."

"I think Brigid's told me about this already." I frowned slightly as I tried to recall the conversation in question. "Is it in March somewhen?"

"March the fifteenth," Lily said promptly. Her arm was currently between Maddie's bed and bedside cabinet.

"What on _earth_ are you doing?" Maddie sounded baffled.

"Knocked something off your cabinet," she grunted. She pulled a small paper bag out of the gap.

"Oh, those are your aunt's sweets, Lil," Maddie said. "I keep meaning to put them away somewhere, before some poor sod thinks they're normal sweets and has one."

Lily winced at the thought, as she examined the contents.

"There aren't many left..."

"They taste nice!"

Lily looked up at her, raising an eyebrow.

"They give your hair polka-dots."

"It's a good look!" Maddie shrugged.

"If you get caught with mauve skin..." Lily said warningly.

"I don't eat them just before classes, Lil!"

"How do they work on you two?" I asked.

"They work better on Mad's hair than mine, because it's lighter, but they're better on my skin tone than hers."

"They work okay, though?"

"Well, if by 'okay' you mean they last about an hour..."

"On Benny, they do," Lily added. "On me, they're fine, only five minutes or so at most. I guess it's because Mads doesn't have any magical genes, whereas I've at least got _some_ traces of magic. Maddie's not even _supposed_ to be having them..." she added in a stern tone to her Muggle friend.

Maddie rolled her eyes.

"What could go wrong?"

"Rule number one: _never_ say that about anything magical. Do you really want to be stuck being multicoloured forever?"

"Hair can be near enough any colour these days and still look normal, it's fine-"

"Skin can't," Lily pointed out.

"I could start a new trend." Maddie shrugged. "Body paint fetish?"

Lily shook her head in exasperation.

"I should get Carlotta to try one, see how that works with her Spanish blood," I mused.

"_Fantastic _idea, except for the _minor_ issue of her being petrified of you right now," she said dryly.

"Not any more, she's not," I said, trying – and failing – to hide my smug grin.

"What have you _done_ to her?" Lily said darkly.

"I haven't done anything!" I cried, holding my hands up in protest. "We picked her up on the way home the other night – she was really drunk or ill or something – and yesterday morning I explained it all to her. She's fine with it all, actually she seems really interested. I told her about you, Lil-"

"Oh, _thanks_," Lily muttered, with an eye roll of her own.

"She was worried about not fitting in! So I said, you don't have to have magic to know about the wizarding world, and that you manage fine. And she seemed really impressed actually, I think she's quite interested in the fact that you do both Muggle and magical studies-"

"Why do I feel like a zoo exhibit once again?" She frowned at the Quaffle which was now sitting in her lap. "So what's the situation with you two now then?"she continued before I could comment.

I hesitated.

"I have _no_ idea."

"Friends? Dating?"

"Fuck buddies?" Maddie supplied.

"I'd prefer to phrase it as 'friends with benefits'; it's much more appropriate in a social setting," Lily corrected her.

"_Why_ you're looking for 'appropriate' with James as company, I do not know-"

The door flew open. Lily swore under her breath and stuffed the Quaffle under Maddie's duvet.

Maddie groaned as she saw who the visitor was.

"_Seriously_? I must have done something bad in a previous life to deserve _this_," she lamented. "What do you want, Abigail?"

"Have you got that article from sports science?" the girl – whom I vaguely recognised as one of Rosalind's lackeys – asked, ignoring the slight.

"No, I gave it to Rania the other day," Maddie retorted shortly.

Abigail's eyes fell on a booklet on Maddie's desk. She frowned and stepped forward to pick it up.

"Why do you have an instruction manual for a washing machine?" she asked curiously.

"Do you fancy doing _your_ clothes washing by hand?" Maddie replied shortly.

"It's called 'shopping around', Abbie. Forward thinking. Wanting to have our flat fully applianced by the time we move into it," Lily said in a patronising voice.

"Applianced isn't a word," Abigail said irritatingly, turning to face Lily. Her eyes fell on me. "Oh! I didn't know you were here, James-"

"Yes, he's here, come to visit his much loved younger sister, _not_ to hear you rabbit on, now shoo. I've told you, Rania's got the article, go bug her," the ever sharp-tongued Maddie said.

Abigail looked as though she'd been slapped in the face. She narrowed her eyes at Maddie, before leaving, slamming the door behind her.

"You're horrible to her," I observed.

"I'm just giving her the stick she deserves for being a thick shit and giving Lily hell when we were ickle Firsties. She's a bitch, all of Rosalind's clique are. They still give Effie a hard time even now. Mind, I've told Eff on countless occasions that she needs to grow a pair-"

"In a very comforting manner, I'm sure," I cut in.

"Maddie never sat the lesson on subtlety," Lily said smoothly. "Pass that booklet over, will you, Benny?"

Maddie lobbed the instruction booklet across the room to her.

"Why _do_ you have a washing machine instruction booklet?" I asked.

"Muggle Studies, of course," Lily said gloomily. "Because one clearly has to know the inner workings of a washing machine in order to fully integrate oneself into a Muggle society. Heck, Maddie only just finds the 'on' button."

"Yes, well, we've already established that I'm a failed human being." Maddie got to her feet and stretched. "Coming to Kit's rugby game then, Jimmy?"

"When is it?"

"In-" Maddie looked at her watch – "forty minutes. Which means that we need to be leaving soon, if we want to make it for kick off..."

"What?" Lily looked up from the booklet. "I thought you were driving?"

"And be roped into chauffeuring Kit to get food afterwards with his smelly kit in the boot? I don't _think_ so. Nope, we can walk. You could do with the exercise, Lil-" She yelped and ducked to avoid the booklet Lily threw at her.

* * *

><p>"So, they can't pass forwards?"<p>

"No, James."

"Only backwards?"

"_Yes_, James?"

"And they score goals behind that line-"

"Tries, James, they're called _tries_. And yes, they have to ground the ball behind that line."

"This is a stupid sport."

"So's Quidditch!"

This was a regular occurrence when I watched a rugby game. The sports that Lily played, mainly hockey and tennis, I understood – partly because I'd watched that many games and heard her talking about them so often that the rules had been drilled into me, and partly because it was reasonably easy to grasp the basics of them – but rugby always confused me. As a result, I was standing pitchside with Maddie, with my hands thrust deep into the pockets of my coat, and her arm tucked into the crook of my elbow, firing questions at her as usual and receiving exasperated answers in return.

Lily, being less sharp-tongued and much more diplomatic than Maddie, got on with people better and was talking to a group of girls from the year below them, who Maddie had referred to, distastefully, as "shrieking airheads".

"Oh, by the way, you do realise you're my date to our prom in July, don't you?" Maddie said suddenly.

"I – what? What the hell's a 'prom'?"

"It's a fancy dance with a dinner; most schools have one at the end of secondary school. It's an American influence. You'd just need a fancy dinner suit and you'd be good to go. I'm sure you've been to all loads of similar dos now you're a famous Quidditch player. We agreed in First Year, that you'd be my date."

"_We_?"

"Me and Lily. Made a pact that I'd go with you and she'd go with Robbie. I don't know if she'll go with him, but I don't see any guy round here who I'd want to take me, and you're half decent, so I'm booking you up."

"Do I have a say in this?" I asked, grinning cheekily.

"Nope." She popped the 'p'. "Even apart from the fact that I can't see why you'd dream of turning down the chance to be my date for an evening, would you really be willing to tell Lily you'd rejected her mate?"

"I'll do it," I said hurriedly. The thought of Lily's wrath scared me. "So long as it doesn't clash with a match or anything. The season ends at the beginning of July, but the World Cup starts a couple of weeks after that-"

"It's the beginning, no worries. The third or the fourth or something like that. Lils will know, I'll get her to write to you and let you know. Seeing as how you magical people can't seem to use any technology more modern than the Middle Ages." She smirked.

"There's nothing wrong with owl post," I defended. "It's simple _and_ reliable. Anyway, why don't you go with Kit to this prom thing?"

"Aside from the fact that neither of us would subject ourselves to that?" She shook her head. "_Honestly_, James. Anyway, he's taking Imogen, it would seem, the jammy bastard."

"Really?" Of all the girls in Lily and Maddie's year, Imogen and Grace were the two they got on best with. I didn't mind them, when they weren't looking at me as though I were a piece of meat.

"Uh huh. He asked her the other week. Lil and I had no idea he was planning to do it. Since then they've been so bashful around each other, it's _painful_. And if they're not being all coy, they're flirting _horrendously_. I wish he'd just get on with it and bang the girl already."

"Who's banging who?" Lily chipped in, having appeared from nowhere.

"Oh, you've decided to ditch your Head Girl mingling and rejoin us now, have you? What's wrong, the gigglers exhausted their brain cell?"

"Something like that. You going to answer the question?"

"Just filling Jimmy in on the Kit and Immy developments."

"What, and how he's _not_ filling her in?"

"You two are horrendously vulgar," I said conversationally.

"Like _you_ can talk," Lily said. "I just can't believe that of the three of us, _Kit_ was the first to bag a date..."

"I've got one now!" Maddie said gleefully.

Lily frowned and leaned around me to look at her.

"Who?"

"Jimmy, of course. Actually, Kit's technically the _last_ of us to get a date. We've had ours sorted for six years now."

"I don't think it counts if they don't know about it," Lily said.

"So hurry up and ask Robbie then! Unless you've got your eye on someone, but I _really_ can't imagine you have, given the choice available-"

The sound of cheering around us cut her off. Kit had just scored an attempt, right at the end of the game. She groaned.

"Great, _now_ he won't stop gloating all evening..."

She was, however, grinning widely, and headed off with the other spectators to congratulate him and the rest of the team. Lily held back, grabbing my arm.

"James," she murmured, "you know you said you'd told Carlotta everything about magic?"

"Yes..." I wondered what she was getting at.

"Did you _actually_ tell her _everything_?"

"I've not filled her in on the entire history of the wizarding world, if that's what you're getting at-"

"No, I don't mean that, you idiot." She rolled her eyes. "I mean the whole Muggle persecution thing, and about Voldemort, and Dad-"

"Of course not!" I frowned. "Why on earth would I do that?"

"Well, given that our entire _family_ was involved in the last war, do you not think it would be an idea?"

I shrugged.

"I don't see why," I said. "Not right _now_, anyway. I don't exactly want to scare her off again, do I?"

Lily looked at me, the expression on her face unreadable.

"Just ... don't keep it quiet. Because if she finds out some other way, and you haven't told her, it mightn't go down too well."

I just laughed and threw an arm round her shoulders.

"You worry too much, Lil," I said fondly. "Come on, let's go and see Kit, before he gets upset that we're not paying him any attention..."


	15. fifteen

A frantic call from Brigid woke me early on Monday morning.

"England want you!" she said excitedly.

I frowned, still half-asleep.

"What?"

"They've named a twenty-one person squad for training this week. They want to get a good look at all the World Cup possibilities. You're in it. So's Roxanne, actually, but I think she's more of a future prospect than a current one. Meet at the England base in an hour."

Excitement began to build up inside me.

"Where's _that_?" I tried to sound casual.

"They're using the World Cup stadium. You know, the one they built near us?"

By 'us' Brigid meant the Falcons' training ground. Though agents were meant to be unbiased, she was of course a die-hard Falcons fan.

"Cato and Cleo have been called up too, naturally. Meet them at our ground in about half an hour – they're picking up some stuff from their lockers – then you can Apparate to the stadium with them."

"Cool!" I said, mentally berating myself for using such a word even as I said it. "Have ... have you rung Roxie yet?"

"No, I'm doing that next. James, just remember-"

"Yeah?"

"Look, this is huge for you, and I don't want to burst your bubble-" She sounded hesitant. "And you _do_ have a massive opportunity here to show what you can do ... but, this is a twenty-one person squad. That's three times as many people as are needed for a team. They've called up nine Chasers; they only need four for the World Cup. This is great, and I'm really chuffed for you ... but I don't want you getting your hopes up too early just to be disappointed."

I grinned.

"Don't worry, Brie," I said. "I know that."

I also knew – though I didn't tell her – that now I was in the England fold, even if it _was_ just a training squad, I wasn't going to let _anyone_ drop me from it. I was going to make that World Cup squad if it killed me.

Though not quite literally, of course.

* * *

><p>I knew most of the twenty-one person squad already, as I'd played against them in the League. Some of them had been at Hogwarts when I'd been there, so I'd also played with or against several of them in the Quidditch Cup too. Cato and Cleo had been a couple of years above me and had played against me for Slytherin.<p>

I was very familiar with a few members of the squad. Michael Wood had been Gryffindor's Keeper and Captain during my first three years at Hogwarts and he now filled the same positions on the English team. His twin sister Emily had been a Chaser on the team and for my first two years, she Ryan and I had made for a formidable trio. I'd learnt a lot from her. While they now both played for Puddlemere United – one of the Falcons' biggest rivals – the Gryffindor spirit outdid the League rivalry, and even now, they always had a friendly smile or a word of advice for me whenever we played each other.

Unfortunately, Gryffindor spirit didn't always linger. Jeremiah McLaggen was, admittedly, an incredibly talented and versatile player. He'd been Gryffindor's Seeker for four years and had then switched to Keeper for his last year, as none of the people trying out had been good enough to join the team. Michael's shoes _had _been rather large ones to fill. It had been Ryan's first season as captain and he'd been preparing himself to plead with Professor McGonagall to bend the rule against First Years playing, so that Hugo could get on the team. McLaggen, however, had been frustrated by the lack of competency and ordered the rejected Keepers to go and sit in the stands, then demanded that Roxanne, who'd replaced Emily as Chaser, and I try to score as many goals as possible against him. He had performed so remarkably that Ryan promptly switched him to Keeper.

Of course, Ryan had then had to call Seeker tryouts. Luckily, these created less of a problem as Albus had easily outflown all competition, and had even taken McLaggen by surprise with his talent.

But McLaggen wasn't in the England squad as a Seeker, or even as a Keeper. He had been signed by the Tornados straight out of school as a Seeker, but had been forced to fill in as a Chaser a couple of seasons ago when injuries had struck and left them short. He had done such a sickeningly good job that he made the England squad a season later, in that position. This ability to position-switch made him unpopular amongst most Chasers, Seekers and Keepers – nobody should be able to slot into so many positions so easily at _House_ level, let alone League level. Beaters alone had little problem with him and proclaimed, as they were wont to do, that their role was so specialist that no 'bit-part' player could possibly dream of performing it to such a high standard.

Secretly, several of us within the League were running a sweepstake on when McLaggen would attempt to play Beater. I was still in the running, though I only had a few months left. Emily's guess had been and gone a good two seasons previously.

Naturally, with such talent in spades, McLaggen had the ego to go with it. Dad had once compared him to his father, who had played on the same team as him and Mum at Hogwarts, commenting that Jeremiah was "cut from the same cloth". He hadn't explained why he'd said this, however, claiming that he hadn't wanted to cloud my judgement of him.

Luckily for me, Uncle Ron had delighted in telling me the entire story of Cormac McLaggen's Quidditch woes, and I had delighted in listening.

McLaggen had never liked me. This wasn't a surprise. He'd commented when I'd first made the Gryffindor team that I had only done so based on who my parents were. I'd thoroughly silenced him when retorting that he clearly hadn't made the team based on his father's prowess, and a beautiful rivalry blossomed. Even though we were now both in our twenties, our mutual animosity hadn't waned, _especially_ as he played for the Tornados, who resented all Falcons players for taking their mantle as the best domestic side in recent years.

This team rivalry meant that there was currently a fair bit of tension amongst the squad. Seven of the thirteen teams in the League were English. The Welsh, Irish and Scottish teams all refused to field English players, as they preferred to nurture home-grown talent. As each nation only boasted two League teams, this was fair enough, but it meant that there were only seven teams for the England management to pick their players from. As the three most successful teams in the League, the Falcons, the Tornados and Puddlemere provided most players, which meant there was a nasty atmosphere in the air. The coach, Demelza Robins, tried to remedy this from the start by splitting us up by position and sending us all off to "bond with each other".

"Does she _really_ think that a few minutes of talking will make us best friends with McLaggen?" Roxanne hissed to me, very quietly, as Demelza's younger sister, Tamsin had also been one of the Chasers chosen for the twenty-one player squad. With twenty years of professional Quidditch experience behind her, she was the oldest member of the squad and usually played for the Tornados.

Roxanne was already fuming, as McLaggen took the first opportunity to make a snarky comment about her lack of first team game time with the Falcons. This was already a sore topic for her, and I knew Brigid was beginning to worry that she would opt to leave the team to gain more game time elsewhere.

"It might have a better chance of working if we weren't all heading back to our clubs at the end of the week to prepare for our first match of the season," I said. "And we're _playing_ the Tornados. That's the last thing we need."

"Don't let _anybody_ see just how good you are," Sinead had warned the four of us before we'd left the Falcon's training ground that morning. "Especially the Tornados or Puddlemere; we're playing them both within the next few weeks and we don't need them picking up on our tactics, or more importantly our weaknesses. Do enough, but don't do too much. Remember, the selectors will be watching our matches all season; you'll have ample time to impress. And Keira's the England Beater coach now; she'll put in a good word for you all."

But even Keira was getting frustatrated.

"None of my Beaters will talk to each other," she moaned quietly to me after the 'bonding session' was over. "I've got two Falcons, two Tornados, a Wasp and a United, and you couldn't create more tension unless you locked them in a room with the Lynch brothers. And apart from Cato and Cleo, none of them really like the idea of being coached by a Falcon, partly because of the rivalry and partly because they they don't want me to learn all their tricks. I swear it was never this bad when I played for England!"

Emily Wood didn't like the idea of Keira coaching the Beaters either, though for different reasons.

"Who on _earth_ decided it was a good idea to couple the Bagman twins with a Broadmoor?" She shuddered. "I hope I'm not picked for Puddlemere when we play you guys; the thought of facing the Bagmans after Broadmoor's showed them all she knows is a _terrifying_ one. All I can say is I'm glad they're all English. If I knew I had to face them in the World Cup, I wouldn't get any sleep at night."

"Don't worry, there's still the Lynch brothers to worry about," I pointed out.

She grinned wryly.

"Yes, well, I think you need to fear them more than most, eh, Potter?" She ruffled my hair in the way she used to do when we played together for Gryffindor – except I had been shorter than her back then, and now I towered over her. "I've got to say, I'm pleased to see you in the fold. I knew it was only a matter of time before England came calling for you. It's good to see Roxie's on their minds too, though she's another couple of seasons away, I think. But you ... you've got a good chance of making the summer team."

"I've got some good people to out-do though," I reminded her. "And besides, once people have gotten into the team, it's hard to dislodge them. People will only get dropped if _they_ make mistakes, you know that."

"Very true, but look at it from this point of view. Tamsin is a fantastic Chaser. What she's achieved is incredible, and the fact that she's still playing for England at her age, especially when most of her contemporaries – you've got a few of them at the Falcons: Broadmoor; Horton; Cobb; Keitch – have been out of the international scene for a few years, says a lot about what she can offer. But she's not going to be around for much longer. If she plays in this World Cup, then it will probably be her last involvement with England. So does Demelza roll with that, let Tamsin have her swan song, given that she's still so good ... or does she say, 'let's promote youth over experience in this tournament' and pick someone like, say, you?"

"I'm not going to get in instead of Tamsin," I snorted. "She's the coach's sister-"

"Demelza doesn't do favouritism," Emily pointed out. "She knows when it is and when it isn't right to pick her-"

"Yes, but I still think she's more likely to pick her for her last World Cup than a non-related coach would be."

Emily shrugged.

"If she's picked, then I won't be too unhappy," she said. "She's a talent and I enjoy playing alongside her. All I'm saying is that you have a chance. I mean, you could dislodge McLaggen; you're a better Chaser than him and Merlin knows I can't stand the bloke."

I grinned, remembering some of the run-ins she'd had with him on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch.

"And I think Demelza thinks his ego could do with a dressing down. You could easily replace him."

"But he's _versatile_," I reasoned. "And it's not just that he _can_ play Seeker and Keeper; he's more than capable at both. Heck, Seeker's his position of choice. There's no way that Robins won't want him in the squad."

"The _squad_, yes, but she'll pick four Chasers. That still leaves two spots-"

"Oh, you'll get in no problem, don't be daft," I said, rolling my eyes.

"I don't know," she said. "Things can change very quickly in sport. And you're _damn_ good. The most exciting thing to see is how far you've come since we were at Hogwarts, and how much potential you still _have_. You're by no means the finished article, and as a United player that scares me, frankly. You've clearly learned a lot from Moran, Horton and Cobb at Falmouth." She paused. "Mike and I told Dad he should be looking at you, when you were in your last year at school. Dad liked what he saw, from what I gathered. Unfortunately, your pal Murphy jumped in there first."

"Brie said her mum was interested in signing me up, and Ryan was already there. It was a no-brainer." I shrugged. "Was your dad really interested, though? I had no idea..."

Emily's father Oliver was the Puddlemere coach. He'd played at Hogwarts with Dad, apparently, before going on to be Puddlemere's Keeper for years. His son had definitely followed in his footsteps.

"Oh, yeah. He sent a scout to all your matches in your last year. He didn't want to approach you too soon though. And then the Falcons snapped you up first. It was definitely the right move for you, though. I think you've done better there than you would have at Puddlemere, given the mentors you've had."

I nodded in agreement. I'd had fine teachers in Sinead, Julia and Laura, and to some extent, Della.

"So, you see? You've got more than enough chance of getting into the World Cup squad."

I nodded again, watching as Demelza released twenty Snitches into the stadium and ordered her three Seekers to catch as many as possible.

What a stadium it was, too. Mum, Dad and my uncles all told stories about the last time the World Cup had been held in Britain, and they'd all described the stadium. This was built to the same design, but nothing they'd said had quite prepared me for the moment when I had actually entered it.

Due to the Statute of Secrecy, the teams in the League couldn't each have a huge stadium to play at. The logistics were near impossible. Instead, we all played at various deserted moors, with temporary stands erected for every match. At the Falcons we had a small building at Bodmin Moor, where we played our home games, which housed our changing rooms and other facilities, and of course we had a pitch marked out and both sets of hoops erected, but everything was very basic. The World Cup stadium, however, was anything _but_ basic. It was by far and away the biggest magical structure I'd ever seen – aside from Hogwarts, of course.

When I finally threw my leg over my broom and kicked off from the ground, later that day, the rush of excitement I felt was even greater than I usually got when I felt the wind hit my face and ruffle my hair. There was _something_ about this stadium, something incredible, and it was only now, now I was flying inside it, that the reality of being in the extended England World Cup squad hit. Despite Brigid's warning earlier that day, as I flew laps round the stadium to warm up, I envisaged it full of spectators, all here to watch the final, all adorned in the England colours, chanting my name...

I grinned to myself as the vision played out.

Not that I would ever tell a soul what I'd just imagined.

* * *

><p>I did, however, tell Aunt Audrey everything else about the training squad on Friday afternoon when I paid her a long-overdue visit.<p>

"I'm proud of you, Jimmy," she said, squeezing my hand excitedly. "I told you that you were in the running, didn't I? I told you right from the start too; if you worked hard enough, you'd reap the rewards. And you've certainly worked hard for this. Just don't forget your poor Aunt Audrey when you're travelling the world playing the beautiful game."

I laughed.

"Don't worry, I won't forget my first fan." I grinned. "Besides, your shortbread is far too nice."

"Have another piece." She gestured towards the shortbread, which was no longer stacked as high as it had been when I'd turned up. "Unless they've gotten you on some crackpot diet in preparation for the World Cup."

"I'm not that special yet." I took the largest piece. "Don't go telling everyone your nephew's playing in the World Cup. I've still got to survive the chop, remember. I wouldn't want you to get your hopes up."

She returned the smile.

"Don't worry, I'm the champion of realism." She paused. "_You_ won't get your hopes up too much, will you? You need to be prepared for all eventualities. And while you need to tell yourself you _can_ play for England at the Cup, that you _are_ good enough, you shouldn't tell yourself that you _should_ and _will_ be playing there. Not just yet. There's still a lot of hard work to do before you can let yourself relax."

"I know. Trust me, I won't let myself get carried away. I've seen the talent I need to overtake, I'm not about to take this all for granted."

"You've got a sensible head on your shoulders, boy. Your parents have raised you well."

"That, or I have an agent who likes to bring me back down to earth with a bump at every opportunity," I said with a grin. Brigid had indeed been telling me exactly the same as Aunt Audrey all week.

"She knows the game better than most," Aunt Audrey agreed. "Anyway, enough of the Quidditch talk. What's happening with this Muggle girl you were seeing?"

I frowned.

"How did you know about _that_?"

"Lucy, of course. She said a few weeks back that you'd gotten quite friendly with some Muggle. She's not had so much to say on the matter recently, though. Have you moved on again?"

"No ... it's difficult." I shifted uneasily in my seat. "She, um ... she knows. About us. About magic."

Aunt Audrey's eyes widened.

"You _told_ her?"

"She found out," I said uneasily. "It's okay, she's cool with it." _She is now, at any rate_. "It's just ... made things awkward in a way. I mean, she doesn't want some serious relationship, she's looking for fun like I am, but ... well, I've kind of got to stay acquaintances with her now, haven't I? And things haven't always ended rosy with me and girls..."

"Cassie Lynch comes to mind," she mused. "Have you seen her much lately, then? Your Muggle, that is, not Lynch. I don't even know this girl's name..."

"Carlotta," I supplied. "Her mum's Spanish. I don't actually know her surname; it's not the kind of thing you ask about, is it? But no, I've not seen her since last weekend, when I explained the whole magic thing to her. I've talked to her; she rang and asked if I wanted a night out, but I said I couldn't, cause I've been doing this training. I might see her tomorrow though. I think she still has loads of questions to ask about magic. I was wondering, actually..." I leaned forwards, propping my elbows on the kitchen table. "How do all these Muggle repelling wards work?"

"Which ones? There are a few that work differently."

"The ones round our Quidditch pitch."

"The Falcons?" I nodded. "Well, that makes Muggles approaching it suddenly remember an appointment they're late for and dash off for it. There are others, of course; the one at Hogwarts causes Muggles to see a ruin, not the castle, and they can't see the Leaky Cauldron at all."

"But Muggles can overcome them?" I asked. I knew this was true, as Maddie and Kit had been to several Falcons matches. I was interested in the theory behind it, however.

"Well, yes ... Hermione would be a better person to ask this than me, you know."

"Yeah, but that would mean telling _her_ that Carlotta's found out about magic, and I didn't fancy that. Not without you and Aunt Angelina on side first."

Aunt Audrey raised an eyebrow.

"Now I see what you're playing at," she said. "So, you want to take Carlotta to a game, do you?"

"Maybe." I shrugged my shoulders. "She seemed interested..."

"Well, the important thing to remember is that most Muggles don't know that these wards even exist. As a result, they don't know they can fight them. That's why they work; if a Muggle suddenly remembers a dentist's appointment while in the middle of a moor, they're not going to question _why_ they remember it because they have no reason to. But if a Muggle knows there's something to fight, then they can overwhelm it. It's by no means easy, though. Just _knowing_ about the wards isn't enough; a Muggle has to really _understand_ magic, to _believe_ that it's genuine and always has been. That's why the wards don't work on Squibs like Lily; she doesn't have magic but she sure as hell knows it exists. By all accounts she had some serious trouble when she first took Maddie and Kit to a match; she says she's never known anyone so _keen_ to visit the dentist as Kit was, and Maddie nearly punched her lights out, she was so anxious to get to a hockey match that didn't exist. But they managed in the end." She paused. "Does that help?"

I nodded gratefully.

"Thanks."

"Now, the next question is, how the _hell_ are you going to explain to your parents that you let a Muggle find out about magic?" Aunt Audrey's tone of voice was now very stern.

I licked my lips hesitantly, finding some sugar and shortbread crumbs as I did so.

"I haven't quite worked that one out yet," I said. "But I'm thinking of turning up at my match with Carlotta, letting Brie look after her and then bolting to the changing rooms and letting them just ... find out."

She raised an eyebrow, looking sceptical.

"If you do it that way," she said, "and you harbour any ambitions of playing for England someday, then I would _definitely_ advise you to include running in the game plan."


	16. sixteen

I planned on spending the weekend – my last before the season started – relaxing by myself in my flat. While I loved talking all things Quidditch, the added excitement of the England training week had meant that almost all of my friends and family had wanted to talk to me about it, and I was now sick of the topic. Especially after Mum spent an hour lecturing me about the right way to behave now that I was in the England squad, while she cooked breakfast.

Unfortunately, Lily had other ideas for my weekend.

She stepped out of my fireplace mid-morning, followed by Maddie, whose exit was much less coordinated.

"I'll never get used to that," she coughed, as she brushed soot off her. I cleaned the floor with a quick _Scourgify_.

"Least you got the right grate," Lily pointed out.

"Don't." Maddie shuddered at the thought of getting lost in the melee that was the Floo network, something that she and Kit had been lucky enough to avoid so far.

"I swear Kit's parents were only connected to the Floo for _emergencies_," I grumbled, as I followed them into the kitchen. They made themselves comfy at the large table, spreading out numerous textbooks, exercise books and – in Lily's case – rolls of parchment.

"This _is_ an emergency," she replied darkly.

"We're escaping Rosalind," Maddie elaborated.

"What did you do _this_ time?" I sighed.

"_We_ didn't do anything!" Maddie protested. "If she wasn't such a nosy, greedy bitch-"

"She now has green hair," Lily explained. "She ate one of those damn sweets of Aunt Angelina's, didn't she? Well, she hasn't got a clue how it happened, of course, but she's blaming it on me, thinks I mixed up some concoction in Chemistry which has dyed her hair. At first I flatly denied it, but then Mrs A reckoned that it was best that we just went along with it. Damage limitation and all that. She's got Rosalind in her living room, trying to calm the situation and stop everyone from finding out it happened-"

"And meanwhile, we escaped through her kitchen grate," Maddie finished.

Kit's parents lived in a house in the grounds of Lily and Maddie's school. Mr Atkinson taught maths, while Mrs Atkinson was in charge of the First and Second Years at the school. They had been told that Lily was a Squib before she'd started at the school, and were the only teachers apart from the Headmistress who knew. Their knowledge of the magical world had come in handy when Maddie and Kit had first found out about magic, as Kit hadn't taken the news too well at first.

"Don't people get suspicious that you visit them so much?" I asked now, as I sat down opposite Lily.

"Mrs A makes _splendid_ tea," she said.

"And besides, they have a back door for a reason," Maddie added. "Anyway, what's got your wand in a knot? I thought you liked seeing us?"

She always got great amusement from using wizarding phrases.

"Of course I do," I said dryly, "but had it not crossed your mind that I might have plans today?"

"_Do_ you?" she asked.

"Well, no, not particularly-"

"There we go then."

"-but Carlotta was possibly going to pop round later."

Maddie's eyes lit up.

"I can meet her!" she said excitedly.

"That's exactly what I _don't_ want," I said darkly. "You'll put her off. And _you're_ the bloody Muggle."

"I'm not _that_ bad," she reasoned. "Besides, I'm one of the only normal people in this motley crew. You really think that she'll prefer Al and Rosie?"

"I'm not sure which is worse, to be quite frank."

"In that case, stop fretting over it and help me with my Muggle Studies," Lily cut in.

"You don't need help from me-"

"Hello, you got an O in it-"

"It's easy, Lil! Common sense!"

"How is knowing the precise mechanics of a television common sense?" she said irritably. "Even worse, they want me to explain how the wizarding channels on it work! How is _that_ Muggle Studies? Most Muggles don't even know those channels exist!"

"I wish I could access those channels," Maddie said dolefully.

"You'll be able to when we move into the flat," Lily reminded her. "There's no way I'm going without the Quidditch channels."

"How's Kit going to cope, living with two girls?" I asked curiously.

Maddie stared at me.

"How's _he_ going to cope? How are _we_ going to cope living with _him_, more like!"

The doorbell rang, interrupting the conversation.

"Is that her?" Maddie said excitedly, sitting upright.

"I bloody well hope not," I muttered, as I got to my feet.

But Maddie was right.

"Can I just apologise in advance for anything my sister and her friend say?" I said as she crossed the threshold.

"Oh, are they here?"

"Fell out of my fireplace a few minutes ago. Literally, in Maddie's case. And she has no concept of how to behave herself."

I led Carlotta into the kitchen where Maddie was still sitting in the bolt upright position I'd left her in, her work already neglected.

"So this is Carlotta, is it?" She grinned cheekily. "I'm Maddie, nice to meet you."

"And you." Carlotta smiled slightly, and took a seat at the table.

Just then, Lily groaned in aggravation, her hands gripping at her hair.

"Lil, just don't learn it!" I said. "It's not important, I never learned it-"

"But if I only bother with the basics then I can only get an A!" Her tone was frustrated as she raised her head and glared at me. "And I need an E at least!"

"But surely if you get the A, then that's higher than the E?" Carlotta frowned, looking confused.

"Wizarding grades," Maddie explained. "They're all weird. Your highest grade is an O, which is Outstanding. Then you have an E, which is Exceeds Expectations, then A for Acceptable which is the last pass grade. Then you have the fail grades, which are P for Poor, D for Dreadful and T for Troll."

"_Troll_?"

"Dad got a T in his O.W.L.s," Lily said. Thinking of Dad's failings seemed to cheer her up.

"Really?" Maddie said curiously. "What in?"

"Divination."

"Oh, that's not even a real subject," she snorted, waving an airy hand. "Remember when you read my tea leaves and told me I'd have ten children by the age of twenty-five? Or when you read my palm and told me I should have died nineteen years before? We were _fifteen_ at the time!"

"Our family doesn't have a history of being gifted at Divination," Lily admitted. "But I still got an A in my O.W.L. And besides, it doesn't mean it's not a real subject. There _are_ real seers around, you know. In fact, you _do_ know, I've told you all about prophecies."

"What work have you got then, Mads?" I interrupted, not wanting to become involved in a conversation about prophecies – I knew where it would lead and I didn't fancy going down that route right now.

"Sports Science," she sighed, turning back to her work.

"Oh, I give up on this shit," Lily scowled, rolling her parchment back up. She pushed her Muggle Studies work to one side, and pulled another textbook towards her.

"What are you doing now?" I asked.

"You're full of questions this morning," Maddie chipped in.

"You've just rolled up at mine, _uninvited_, with shitloads of work; I'm allowed to be nosy."

She poked her tongue out at me, before lowering her head back to her work.

"History, to answer your question," Lily said.

"Which one?"

"Can't decide." She shrugged. "What do you think is better, nineteenth century Muggle Russia or the second rise of Voldemort?"

"Neither," I supplied.

"Voldemort, you know that like the back of your hand," Maddie chipped in.

Once again, we were heading for a topic I didn't want to discuss. This time, Carlotta came to my rescue.

"Do you ever get confused?" she asked Lily. "James said you do magical and normal subjects..."

"Are you trying to say that the magical world isn't normal?" Lily said, amused. "I picked subjects that kind of link with each other, to make it easier, but they don't tend to overlap. Chemistry and Potions, for example; Chemistry only involves Muggle elements, and Potions only involves magical ones, so it's pretty hard to get them intertwined, though I have been known to write an essay about antidotes which involves adding magnesium. I was _very_ tired at the time. It's the same with Biology and Herbology; the overlap only goes so far, it's quite hard to get them mixed up.

"Maths and Arithmancy is where it gets _slightly_ more confusing because sometimes you can solve a mathematical problem using the magical properties of a number – but because I've had the Muggle methods drummed into me, I generally avoid that pothole. History is the bad one, though. Muggle and wizarding history is so tightly intertwined all the way back regardless of how much the wizarding world tries to hide. It's linked so much more than you could possibly imagine. Because at the end of the day we're all living in the same space, we're going to run into each other no matter how hard we try to stay separate. So yeah, it does get very hard there. I have to get Maddie to proof read all my Muggle History essays before I hand them in, in case I've slipped in something about goblins or giants-"

"And I thoroughly enjoy it," Maddie said glumly.

Our conversation was interrupted by the sound of someone falling on the living room floor, followed by a torrent of swear words intermingled with coughs.

"Kit," Lily and Maddie both said at the same time.

Sure enough, he strolled into the kitchen moments later, with what would have been a nonchalant air were he not covered in soot.

"_Scourgify_," I said lazily, pointing my wand at him.

"Cheers." A now sootless Kit took a seat at the table. "Your floor might be a bit mucky in there, by the way. You _really_ need to clean your grate, you know."

"You sound like my mother," I said, pulling a face.

"And she'll be here soon if you're not lucky. Well, if _Lily's_ not lucky, anyway." He turned to look at her, smirking. "I've just heard about your little ... incident. Nicely done, except my mum's just told yours about it."

Lily groaned, her head falling onto the table.

"But we didn't even do anything!" came her muffled voice.

"Mum has to tell your mum every time there's a breach, you know that," he reminded her.

"But _I_ didn't breach anything!"

"_She_ breached _our_ privacy!" Maddie chipped in. "Did you see her? Was she still green?"

"Green, was it? Nice. She was back to blonde when I saw her, she was in your boarding house when I dropped Imogen off, telling everyone how you'd done something freakish. Grace was defending you to the hilt, saying that you can't possibly have done anything because how could you have changed her hair colour? Course, she then said to me and Immy that whatever you _did_ was bloody genius."

"Why does everyone assume it was us?" Maddie moaned, but she was grinning. "Good old Gracie. Sometimes I wonder whether we should tell her and Immy, Lils..."

"I wonder that sometimes too, but it's too much stress. It was bad enough telling you two..."

"Plus they're doing a good enough job at backing you two up _without_ knowing about magic," Kit pointed out. He turned to Carlotta. "I'm sorry, I haven't introduced myself yet, that was very rude of me. You must be Carlotta? I'm Kit, Lily's friend, it's nice to meet you."

"Hi," she replied, smiling slightly. I wondered if she was starting to feel a bit overwhelmed.

"Did Immy enjoy her breakfast date, then?" Maddie butted in, mockingly.

"She bloody loved it, I'll have you know, Benny. Chicks _dig_ a breakfast date."

"I don't."

"Yes, well, I'd hardly refer to you as a chick – hey!"

He ducked, as she threw her pen across the table at him, but she was laughing.

"Oi! No missiles in my kitchen, Bennett!"

"You two are _such_ children," Lily sighed.

A loud _pop_ indicated that somebody had Apparated into the other room.

"Oh, shit," she muttered. Her face lost its colour.

"Lily Luna Potter, _what_ have you-"

Mum came to a halt in the doorway, as her eyes fell on Carlotta.

"Morning, Mrs P!" Maddie chipped in, clearly trying to divert the tension. Unfortunately, it didn't work.

"Hi again, Mum!" I said brightly. "Back so soon? This is Carlotta. Carla, this is my mum, Ginny."

"Lovely to meet you, Carlotta," Mum said in a pleasant tone. She then turned to face me. "James, living room, _now_. And you, Lily."

Lily grimaced, getting to her feet.

"I'll put the kettle on, shall I?" Maddie said in a lighthearted tone, as Mum chivvied us into my living room. She shut the kitchen door firmly behind her, crossing her arms and looking at us with a severe expression on her face.

"I don't know which of you to start with," she said. "Does the Statute mean nothing to _either_ of you any more?" She fixed her glare on me. "You've _told_ her about us?"

"Who says she knows?"

"Cordelia's chirping away and Lily's got stacks of parchment and quills on the kitchen table. If you've not told her, then I want to know why she's so content in that kitchen and not running a mile."

I decided defiance was the best option.

"Yeah, she knows. And if she's sitting in the kitchen _contently_, as you observed, then surely there's no problem? She's fine with it-"

"James, that's not the issue! You think this is going to work out when you stop seeing her?"

"But it's not like I _meant_ to tell her! She found out, and I made the best of the situation-"

"And _that's_ meant to make things better?"

"Don't be harsh on him, Mum; he's already beaten himself up about it. Not to mention the lectures he's gotten from Brigid and Rosie-"

"And as for _you_, young lady!" Mum turned on Lily. "_You_ should know better! In fact, I thought you _did_. And now I find out you're turning people's hair green?"

"In fairness," I interjected, feeling a need to stick up for Lily as she'd done for me, "it's really not Lily's fault. If Rosalind wasn't such a nosy bitch, she wouldn't have found the sweets and had one for herself-"

Mum blinked.

"It was _Rosalind_?"

Lily nodded.

"Well, why didn't you _say_?"

Mum's expression immediately morphed from angry to approving. It was at times like this that I was reminded she was Uncle George's sister.

"What colour was it?"

"Bright green. We caught a glimpse of it as we made a mad dash to Mrs A's kitchen to escape to here."

Lily still looked slightly uneasy. The thing with Mum was, you never knew when she might snap. Luckily, we seemed safe for the moment.

"Well, she got what was coming to her. I _will_ be having words with Angelina though. If she must have Squib testers, then she can supervise you when you're testing them in future. I trust Maddie and Kit haven't had any?" She raised an eyebrow.

"None at all," Lily said smoothly. "Honestly, Mum, what do you take me for?"

"I won't answer that." Mum cast her eyes around the room. "_Really_, James, I only tidied up this morning and already it's a mess! Look at your fireplace!"

"That was Kit," I said, as she cleaned it up with a wave of her wand.

"And the rest of it?" she asked, pushing open the kitchen door.

"Cordelia and I were playing catch," I admitted, following her back into the kitchen.

"I won't ask what with."

"That's probably for the best," I agreed.

"You'll kill that poor pygmy puff before long," Lily said, sitting back down next to Maddie, who had my teapot and six mugs in front of her.

"She'll be fine. She's a resilient little thing. She loves being thrown around, anyway."

I fell back into the chair beside Carlotta's. She was looking at the teapot with a fascinated expression on her face.

"What are you looking at?" I asked.

"It's ... singing..."

"Not very well, mind." I frowned at its pitchy rendition of _A Teapot Full of Hot, Strong Tea_. "It used to be better, but it's losing its touch. It's forgotten a few numbers somewhere along the way, too. It needs a good refurbishment when Aunt Hermione or Uncle George have the time."

"I asked it to sing _American Pie_ for me, but it won't," Maddie said dolefully. "In fact, it hasn't stopped singing Celestina since I took it out of the cupboard. It can't quite-" We all winced at a particularly out-of-tune note – "reach the high notes any more."

"I think it's forgotten _American Pie_."

"What?"

Maddie looked devastated. She had spent days teaching my teapot that number – and had successfully managed to bore the entire Weasley clan of a song that most of us hadn't even heard of beforehand. The teapot had then gone on to sing it constantly for weeks, until even Maddie grew tired of it – and took it upon herself to teach it a different song. In fact, she had taught it most of its eventual repertoire. Unfortunately, it had since forgotten most of it.

"But it's a classic! How can it forget it?"

"There _are_ a lot of lyrics for that poor piece of china to remember," Lily pointed out.

"I think it only remembers Celestina now," I added.

"It clearly can't remember the notes though." Maddie winced again as it hit another flat note. "Can we pour the tea out and shut it up?"

"I've got it." Mum drew her wand and waved it at the teapot, which started to pour out its contents - it changed its tune to _You Poured the Tea Right Out of Me_.

"Aunt Hermione would tell you off, you know," I said. "She's always telling Rosie not to use magic unless she really has to."

"Yes, but that's because she doesn't want her to become too content with the fact that she _can_ use magic, and rely on it too much. I highly doubt that pouring out tea by magic will affect my ability to do so manually. Does everyone want?"

A chorus of yeses echoed round the table.

"Lily, get the milk," Mum instructed.

Lily leaned back onto the back two legs of her chair – "don't go moaning to me when you fall backwards and smack your head," Mum said warningly - to open the fridge door and grab the milk jug out of it.

"This one doesn't sing as well, does it?" Carlotta said warily.

"No, it does a dance accompaniment. It's not very good at keeping its contents in if it's dancing to a particularly upbeat number though."

"It gets a bit over-exuberant with the dance moves for _Y.M.C.A._," Maddie added, watching it cautiously as it waltzed around the table.

The dance education of the milk jug had been Kit's doing.

Mum set the teapot back down on the table, where it struck up a jazzy rendition of _You Stole My Tea But You Can't Have My Spout_. The milk jug's dancing became much more enthusiastic.

"For Merlin's sake, Lily, pick it up before it throws the milk everywhere," Mum said.

Lily reached out and snatched it up, then poured the milk into the mugs.

"Do you have sugar, Carlotta?" Mum asked her.

"Er ... what does the sugar pot do?" she asked tentatively.

We all laughed.

"Nothing, luckily." I waved my wand and silenced the teapot, whose warbling was getting worse. "Do you want any?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks." She smiled faintly.

Maddie distributed the mugs to us.

"So, Mrs P, you must be very proud of your Jamesie here, getting picked for England!" she said.

I hid a grimace.

"_England_?" Carlotta turned to look at me, an expression of incredulity and awe on her face. "You didn't tell me that!"

"That's because it was just a training camp, nothing big-"

"I'd say it's pretty big," Lily interrupted. "Means they like the look of you."

"And by all accounts, they were pleased with what they saw," Mum added.

"Is that why you were busy this week?" Carlotta said curiously.

I nodded.

"We were all under a strict curfew. Bit boring, but-"

"It stops you from going out every other night like you have been for the past few weeks," Mum cut in sternly.

"It was preseason! We could get away with it! First match is in a week, we'll start knuckling down now."

"I should think so too! Tornados first up isn't exactly a gentle start to ease you in, is it? You're just lucky it's a home fixture."

I nodded.

"That reminds me." I Summoned some of the tickets that were sitting on the worktop. "There you go, kids." I slid three of them across the table to Lily.

"Ooh, thanks! And I've got some for you too, hang on..."

She rooted around in her bag.

"Are you coming to the match?" Maddie asked Carlotta.

"Um..."

"You can if you want," I offered. "Only trouble is, the pitch has anti-Muggle wards up, so you'd need to be able to overcome those to see it. We can have a go at that somewhen this week if you want?"

"It can be quite hard," Maddie said. "You have to force your brain to believe that there _is_ something there, and that you _don't_ have an important meeting at the bank or whatever it decides to come up with for you. But then, given that you've just been treated to a concert by James' crockery, you shouldn't find it _too_ hard to convince your brain it's all real."

"It's worth it, as well," Kit added. "Quidditch is _amazing_ once you get your head around it. And James' team are seriously good. They've won the league three seasons on the trot!"

"_And_ now you've got Cato Bagman..." Maddie sighed dreamily.

"What _is_ it with you women and Bagman?" I said, aggravated.

"Oh, James, of _course_ you wouldn't understand, you're a man," Mum said.

"Not you as well," I said, disgusted. "You're old enough to be his mother! _Really_. And I have to see him in training on Monday!"

"I'll go in your place?" Maddie volunteered.

"_No_."

"Who's this guy?" Carlotta asked curiously.

"Oh, you haven't seen him yet? You have not _lived_! He's a Quidditch player; a Beater, so he's _very_ muscled-"

"So am I!" I moaned.

Maddie gave me a pitying look, before turning back to Carlotta.

"-and he is simply _divine_. There might be a picture of him floating around somewhere, actually ... yeah, he was on the cover of a January _Quidditch Weekly_, wasn't he? Where will that be?" She got up and headed to the living room.

"_I_ was on the Christmas edition," I pointed out sulkily.

"Of course you were, darling," Mum said in a soothing tone.

"A-ha!" Lily produced something from her bag and slid it across the table towards me. "Tickets for our seven-a-side. It's a two day event but you're playing the Arrows on the Saturday. If the game finishes in time though, make sure you come on the Sunday."

"Two weeks time," I observed, looking at the date.

"Bring Freddie and Brie if you want. And if they want, obviously. I don't think Freddie quite gets hockey yet."

"Oh, he'll come. Loads of girls in short skirts? He wouldn't pass up that opportunity. Don't you worry, he'll be there."

Lily grimaced.

"In that case, _don't_ bring him."

"No, bring him," Kit said. "I need all the male company I can get."

Lily bristled.

"You don't _have_ to come, Christopher-"

"Found it!" Maddie pranced back into the kitchen, waving a tattered magazine round triumphantly. "It was in Cordelia's cage. Either she too has very good taste in men, or you were hoping she'd eat it, James."

"He _is_ very tasty," Lily pointed out.

Maddie slapped the magazine down in front of Carlotta, and Cato Bagman winked up at her. I scowled.

"Ooh, he _is_ a bit of a dish, isn't he?"

"I've changed my mind. You're not coming to any of my matches," I said flatly.

"It's alright, Carla. We'll smuggle you in." Lily smirked at her. "Although there'll be a lot of our clan there, everyone tries to make the first match of the season..."

"You'll be fine," I reassured her as she blanched. "None of us are _that_ scary, really. Uncle Percy and cousin Molly can be a bit peculiar but on the whole, everyone's fine. Besides, you've met a lot of the cousins already, in the Tav, remember?"

"I'd say Freddie's the weirdest of the lot," Maddie added, "and if you can cope with him, then you'll be fine with everyone else."

"He can be an acquired taste," Kit agreed.

"I'm sure he thinks the same about you," Lily said dryly, before swigging the rest of her tea. "Mum, write my History of Magic essay, will you?"

"What's the question?"

"'How was Voldemort able to regain power and followers so quickly in the year after his resurrection?'"

"Cornelius Fudge was an utter knob," Mum said flatly, as she collected up the empty mugs.

"I told her to put that," Maddie said, turning back to her own work.

"That may be right, but I doubt it will prove a thorough understanding of the course topic."

Kit snorted.

"Just write in big letters at the top of the exam paper 'My dad's Harry Potter', that will demonstrate a thorough understanding alright."

"See if he'll write it," Maddie suggested.

"Are you kidding? It would just turn into an utter tirade about politicians."

"If in doubt, blame a politician."

"You _have_ listened to Dad's stories too much." Lily pulled a face.

"They're fascinating! And there are a lot of lessons to be learned from them. Like don't trust politicians. Heaven only knows why you want to _work_ with them..."

"Surely the best thing to do when you lack faith in an institution, is to _join_ them and try to make a difference?"

Maddie stared at her for a moment.

"If the Wizarding world is relying on _you_ to tidy up their political system," she said, "then you're all in trouble."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Quick disclaimer: I don't own any of the songs which the teapot sings; they're all variations of Celestina Warbeck songs which JK owns, naturally. Y.M.C.A is by The Village People and American Pie is, of course, by Don McLean._


	17. seventeen

"James ... there's nothing here."

"That's what you think. That's what your eyes are telling you. But there _is,_ actually, a Quidditch pitch here."

"James, we're in the middle of a moor. There is _nothing here_. And besides, I should really be at work-"

I grabbed Carlotta's hand as she tried to move away.

"Oh no you don't," I said. "For a start, your shift doesn't start for five hours. Secondly, we're about two hundred miles from London, and in the middle of nowhere. How exactly do you expect to get back without me?"

She sighed with aggravation.

"James, this is ridiculous-"

"It's not! Look, don't you want to come to the match? It's right there, in front of us! See, the changing rooms are to the right, and they've put a stand up for next Saturday-"

"James, this is ridiculous. We've been here for half an hour, and I _can't see_ the damn thing. Because I'm not meant to, am I? I'm a _Muggle_, I'm not allowed to see your precious wizarding places. It's not going to happen."

"It will, Maddie and Kit can-"

"James, just take me home."

She looked close to tears. Awkwardly, I reached forwards and wrapped my arms around her waist, Apparating us back to mine.

Once back in my living room, she turned her back to me. I suspected she was wiping away tears. I shifted from one foot to the other.

"Look, Carla ... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push you. it's just ... I _do_ want you to be able to watch the match, you know?"

"It's fine," she said thickly, her back still to me. "I didn't mean to disappoint you. I mean, I really _did_ want to see it..."

"You haven't disappointed me, don't be daft!" I stepped forwards, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "These wards are _meant_ to be hard to break. I'd be pretty damn impressed if you'd managed to see it that quickly. It _did_ take Maddie and Kit a long time. We ... we can try again some other time if you want?"

She turned to face me, smiling weakly.

"Maybe."

But she looked so downtrodden that I just had to say something.

"You can come to Lily's sevens thing with me if you want?" I suggested. "You won't need to break any wards for _that_. Heck, you'd know far more about all of that than any of us would."

She smiled slightly.

"I never played sevens at school. But that sounds good ... won't Lily mind?"

"Mind? She'll _love_ it if you come! The more people there to watch her shine, the better. Plus, I think she quite likes you. Just, so long as Maddie and Kit don't scare you off..."

"Maddie _is_ quite..."

"Unique is pretty apt," I supplied. "But yeah, she can be pretty forward. Kit has a bit more tact. They're both great, though. It was a while before Lily told them about magic, and sometimes I wonder if she should have done it sooner. She needs people who can understand what she's going through, you see. I think she'd go nuts if they didn't know. For a start, her workload is ridiculous, she needs them around to manage it for her and to stop her from overworking herself. That, and she was struggling to hide the fact that she was writing to us by owl post – because that was the only way to keep in touch with us when we were at school."

"It ... must be hard for her."

"Sometimes I wonder how she does it. But she manages really well. That's just the way she is though, she always tries to make the best of a situation. I think she gets that from Mum, because positive thinking isn't one of Dad's strong points."

"What's your dad like?" she asked curiously. "You seem to talk more about your mum than you do him."

I hesitated.

"Do you not get on?" she asked.

"It's ... difficult. I don't think he totally approves of me playing Quidditch. I think he thinks I could be doing something more worthwhile. Which is unfair, because Mum played professional Quidditch, and they were already together at that point..."

"That _does_ seem unfair." Carlotta wrinkled her nose. "I know the feeling though. My parents think I could be doing more with my life than working as a barmaid at the Tav. I'm not _just_ a barmaid though; it's a restaurant during the day and I help out in the kitchen. Dad thinks I'm just wasting my time, that even if I _do_ get my own restaurant it won't be a sure-fire job. Mamá is a bit more understanding – she's the reason I love cooking – but she's still a bit wary. They just want to know I'm going to be okay though; it's only natural for parents to want what's best for their kids. I guess it's the same thing with your dad. And sometimes, what we want to do _isn't_ what's best for us."

I nodded in agreement.

"Maybe," I mused.

"Anyway, I should really be going." She paused. "I _am_ sorry, really, about earlier-"

"Don't blame yourself! It's not your fault, seriously-"

"I still feel like it _is_ though. Anyway, standing here moping about it won't get the roast dinner cooked, will it? I'll see you round, I guess."

"Yeah, see you..."

Once she'd left, I span round and threw an angry punch at the wall. And then regretted it.

* * *

><p>Training became a lot more Tornados-specific in the run up to the match. Their main threat was their Chasers, one of whom was Jeremiah McLaggen, which meant a tough challenge for our Chasers and Keeper.<p>

I was by no means assuming I'd be one of the Chasers. Naturally I hoped to be, but all six of us had been performing very well in training, so there was a possibility that I might not be picked.

Suspense built steadily throughout the week, until Sinead took pity on us on Wednesday afternoon and announced the team.

"Keeper and Captain; Alfred."

Well, _that_ was no surprise. Alfie Keitch had been club captain for years and therefore played most games. Luckily his rival for the spot, Sophie, was never too bothered about this. She was coming to the end of her career, and now had a young family, so she was simply glad to still be playing for a professional club. She did get games, of course – Alfie couldn't play them _all_ – but she watched most games from the sidelines with her children.

"Chasers; Adelheid, Ryan and James. Della, you're vice-captain."

Della patted my shoulder in congratulations and I punched her arm lightly in return.

"Beaters; Cato and Cleo."

No surprise _there_.

And now we were down to the Seeker. This was where we really had _no_ idea who would be chosen. Stefan Krum and Klaus Brand were both international quality players, for Bulgaria and Germany respectively, and Sinead had been known to toss a coin to decide who would play. Other selection methods she'd used were the drawing of straws and, perhaps most fairly, a simple half-and-half split. I wondered whether she would do that this season, it being a World Cup year.

"Seeker; Klaus."

Della hissed triumphantly under her breath, so quietly that only I could hear her. I hid a grin. Della had nothing against Stefan and, like the rest of us, had every confidence we would catch the Snitch regardless of which Seeker we played. She was just happy for her little cousin.

"That's all for today, chaps! Report back nice and early tomorrow; we'll try to get some more match-specific moves in place."

"Well done, Del," I said, as our squad began to disperse. "Vice-captain. Nice one."

"Thanks!" Her grin was unmissable. "Good you're starting, eh, Junior? And you, Murph," she added as Ryan joined us.

"I hope your new position doesn't mean you're going to preach at us for the next age," he said, pulling a face.

She laughed, and punched his arm. He winced. From most girls that wouldn't have felt like anything more than a tap to him, but Della wasn't most girls.

"Watch it, Murph, or I _will_ pull rank on you. Anyway, we've gotta be on our top game on Saturday, boys! Big game first up. Eyes on the prize, we need to win this one and win big."

Ryan's gaze was most definitely focused on _her_, but I didn't quite think that was what she'd meant.

Roxanne then approached us.

"Well done, guys," she said, her tone cheerful, but I could tell she was disappointed, and felt guilty. We Weasleys always looked out for each other, and so naturally Roxanne and I both wanted each other to succeed. Unfortunately for her, I was the Chaser whose position on the team she was most likely to dislodge. As a result, I always felt bad for her when I was chosen.

"Your mum should pick Roxie for the Arrows game," I murmured to Ryan once she and Della had started talking to Cleo. "They're a weaker team than the Tornados, and she needs a run out."

He nodded in agreement.

"I was going to mention that to her. Actually, I was going to offer to give up my slot. Trouble is, you know mum, she doesn't take any teams lightly. She likes to pick the three best Chasers, and perhaps more relevantly, she likes having Chasers who work well together. And you, me and Della know each other's games inside out by now. Out of us six, the players who Roxanne would play best with are me and you, seeing as we played together at Hogwarts for two seasons. But Mum's not going to drop Della now she's given her the vice-captaincy, is she? Not for the second game of the season, at any rate. Roxie's going to have to have some games, though, or she'll leave, and we can't lose a talent like her."

"But then ... maybe your mum thinks that she doesn't need Roxie, if she has us three? I mean, we're all young for Quidditch players, we've got a lot of years left in us..."

"Injuries permitting," he pointed out. "That, and Della is always a definite for Germany, and I have a chance of being picked for Ireland-"

"I'd say you're a definite too, Murph," I interjected.

"Yeah, well, not wanting to blow my own trumpet. And then we'll be losing you to England sure as eggs is eggs-"

"_That's_ not a guarantee at all-"

"Stop being so modest, Junior, it doesn't suit you. Point is, Mum would be a fool to think she didn't need to keep Roxie. She could go to a team like the Arrows and be picked immediately and at this point, she might think that better than just training with us. So she's going to have to start playing her more regularly, but it means splitting us up..."

"I really don't envy your mother."

"No," he said, "neither do I." He paused. "How are things in paradise?"

"I'd hardly say it's paradise, mate." I rolled my eyes.

He shrugged.

"She's not asking for marriage yet, that's close enough to paradise for you. She coming on Saturday?"

I pulled a face.

"Not at this rate, she still can't see the damn pitch."

"Really? But Lily's mates can-"

"Yeah, after a _lot_ of hard work. We tried on Sunday but she just got upset, and I don't want to push her any more, you know? But it would be nice if she could come..."

"Shame the Quidditch Network aren't broadcasting it, then she could watch it at yours. Wouldn't be the same, but it'd be something..."

He tailed off, gazing unmistakably at Della.

"Done anything yet?" I murmured.

He shook his head, and turned away from her.

"Can't, can I?"

"Of course you can-"

He shook his head.

"Team comes first, James. You know that."

And with that he trudged off, looking thoroughly downtrodden.

* * *

><p>I headed to the Tav when I got home, knowing that Carlotta was working there all day.<p>

Not that I'd already learned her working schedule.

It was reasonably quiet when I got there; as it was late afternoon, the lunch crowd had all gone, and the night crowd hadn't arrived yet. I headed to the bar, where a tall girl who I vaguely recognised from previous visits was rearranging some of the bottles of alcohol they had at the back of the counter.

"Hey, do you know where Carlotta is?" I asked her.

She seemed to recognise me, too.

"Yeah, she's out back." She turned her head to the door at the back of the bar. "Hey, Fortescue! Your fellow's here for you!"

It was odd that we'd known each other nearly two months and yet, that was the first time I had heard her surname. Of course, I usually didn't need to ask; the wizarding community was such a small one that I already knew who near enough everyone was. That, and knowing a girl's surname was hardly the most pressing issue on my mind.

Carlotta emerged from the doorway, looking puzzled. The other girl moved away.

"James!" she said. "What on earth are you doing here? You don't normally come here to look for me unless you're drunk."

"Are you trying to say I only want to see you when I'm drunk?" I raised an eyebrow. "Because that's not true and you know it."

"No, but you've not hunted me down at work while sober before. What is it?"

I shrugged.

"Just figured I'd come and tell you I've made the team for Saturday."

She frowned.

"I thought that you were always playing, though? Wasn't that a definite?"

"It was a probability, but nothing is definite in the world of Quidditch, you know." I grinned.

"Well, that's pretty cool." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"What's up?"

"What? Nothing's up, don't be daft-"

"Yes it is. I can tell."

"It's just..." She chewed on her lip. "You really want me to go, and I really _do_ want to go, but I can't see it, and I just feel like I'm letting you down..."

"You're not letting me down," I insisted again. "Look, we can have another go if you want, but I don't want to force you into anything..."

She glanced at her watch.

"I'm due a half hour break, we could go now if you want..."

I blinked in surprised by how eager she was.

"Yeah, sure."

"Cool, let's go." She lifted up the bar hatch and slipped out.

"Fortescue, where are you going?" a sharp voice called from the other end of the bar.

"I'm having my break, I'll be back in half an hour," she called over her shoulder to the woman, not bothering to look back.

"A minute over and I'll dock you," the woman warned her.

"Yeah, whatever," she muttered under her breath. "Bloody slave driver." Once we were outside, she turned to face me. "Are we gonna have to go back to yours?"

"Na, we'll risk it from here." I pulled her into the alcove where I'd found her a few weeks ago. "I doubt anyone will see us, and even if they do, they'll think it was a trick of the light or something." I paused to Apparate us both to the training ground.

"That's the thing with you Muggles," I finished as she regained her balance. On the whole she seemed to be coping with Apparition very well; better than Lily at any rate. "You don't see anything unless it's right under your noses, and even when you do see, you generally assume it to be something else. Makes it slightly easier for us to get by."

She scowled slightly.

"We're not _all_ like that, you know."

"Course you're not." I ruffled her hair. "You know, I didn't know what your surname was until just now."

"Didn't you?" She looked surprised. "No, I suppose you wouldn't have. Although _technically_ it's Fortescue Martínez."

"Double-barrelled?"

"No, two surnames. Spanish naming traditions; you get a surname from each parent. Mamá was adamant that we were doing it that way. Most people lop the Martínez off the end though, but then that's generally what happens with Spanish names anyway. Sometimes I call people up on it when they do it, to be a nuisance, but my supervisor's in a pissy mood today so I daren't. She means it when she says she'll dock me for being a minute late. You nervous about Saturday then?"

"Not really. I've got a fair few games under my belt now. It'll be tough, but I'm confident we'll beat them. If anything, I'm excited. We haven't played a proper match in months. You do realise that it could go on for hours, if not days? You might have to skip work on Sunday," I joked.

"Only if I can actually see the damn match to watch it," she grimaced. "Seriously, there is no _way_ that there's anything there..."

"Of course there is. Come on, let's get a little closer, you might be able to see then..."

But that only caused trouble.

"James, I need to go, I have work-"

"You have a break," I reminded her, maintaining a vice-tight grip on her wrist. "And you can't go anywhere without me anyway, remember?"

"James, let me go-"

"Why? We're in the _middle of nowhere_, Carla, stop trying to dash off, because you _can't_-"

"But I need to go! I'm meant to be working-"

"You're meant to be trying to see the pitch-"

"I _can't see it, James_! I'm a bloody _Muggle_, I'm not _meant_ to see the pitch-"

"If you keep telling yourself you won't be able to see it, then you've got no chance!" I was beginning to lose my temper with her. I tried to calm down, knowing I wasn't being fair; it wasn't _her_ fault she couldn't see the pitch.

"Look, come here." I tugged her round to stand in front of me, facing the pitch, and snaked my arms round her waist. Not that that was necessary, but I wasn't going to waste an opportunity to get my hands on her. "It's there, I promise you. Do you want to know what it looks like? There's a set of three poles with hoops on them about thirty feet away from us, and they're about fifty feet high. There's another set five hundred feet away from them, at the other end of the pitch. There's a temporary stand to the left hand side of the pitch, level with the centre. The stand is on stilts so the seats are about the same height as the hoops. And then on the right of the pitch, opposite the stand, is our training hut. It has our changing rooms in it, and a broom shed in case we want to leave our brooms here. I keep my Fiona at home though. And there's a little kitchen in there too, so we can cook if we want to – or at least, the girls can cook for us – and there's also a meeting room, where we discuss things like tactics, and who's playing in the team. It's a lot comfier than sitting in the changing rooms all the time. Next to that is the score board. That's about fifty feet up as well, and there's a seat next to it for the person keeping score. We tried Charming it to see if it could keep score magically, but it doesn't really work. When we took the charms off, it had somehow turned blue, and we can't change it back-"

"James, that's _purple_," she interrupted.

I stared at the top of her head, while I processed what she'd said.

"_What_?"

"You're not going to start _arguing_ with me, are you? I'm telling you, it's purple; you men are all totally colourblind-"

"You can _see_ it?"

Carlotta froze for a moment, then clapped her hands to her mouth, as she spun round to face me. Her eyes were as wide as saucers.

"I can see it," she said through her hands. "I can see it!" She threw her arms round my neck, and squealed happily.

I laughed, lifted her up and spun her round in circles.

"You're making me dizzy!"

I grinned, setting her back down on the ground and pulling her close.

"I have that affect on girls," I said cheekily.

"Oh, shut up, you big-headed pillock-"

I kissed her to shut her up. She giggled against my lips and responded in kind, threading her fingers through my hair.

After a moment, she pulled away reluctantly.

"James," she breathed, resting her forehead against mine, "I really _do_ need to go back to work now."


	18. eighteen

"We're _really_ high up."

"This is the best vantage point." I paused. "You're not scared of heights, are you?"

"_Now_ you ask?" Carlotta said dryly. "No, I'm not ... are you sure this stand is safe?"

Mum laughed.

"It's being held up by magic more than it is by the structure itself. Don't worry, we'll be fine."

"And ... is _everyone_ going to be here?" Carlotta then asked.

"You mean the whole family? Yes, they will be. Everyone comes to see the first game of the season," Mum said.

I was beginning to feel nervous again. I'd felt sick with nerves when I'd woken up this morning, but as usual Mum had managed to calm me down with words and food.

After breakfast, we'd waited for Carlotta to turn up, so that the three of us could Apparate to the pitch together. We were now sitting in the top row of the stands waiting for the match to begin. It wouldn't start for another hour, but the teams were required to be there half an hour in advance and the rest of the family usually tried to get to the pitch early enough to see me and wish me luck before the match.

"Do you reckon Dad will make it?" I asked Mum now. He'd apparently been called into work, and wasn't sure how long he'd be.

"I don't know, darling. I know he'll try his hardest to get here on time, but if Kingsley needs him for something then he might not be able to leave early."

I pulled a face. Carlotta squeezed my hand slightly.

"Look, there's Al and Rose."

Mum pointed down to where two figures had Apparated just outside the pitch. Unsurprisingly, there were anti-Apparition wards on the pitch itself, for safety reasons, though privately I thought that anyone who was stupid enough to try to Apparate straight onto the pitch deserved to be hit by a Bludger or a player.

"See, that's an easy start, you know them," I said, bumping Carlotta's shoulder lightly. She didn't look too appeased. "Don't worry, Mum will look after you. And nobody will bite you. Well, except Uncle Bill or Teddy, maybe," I added cheekily, more for Mum's benefit than Carlotta's.

"Behave, James," Mum murmured.

"But really, Uncle Percy and Molly may bore you to death, Louis and Hugo might try teasing you rotten, Grandpa Weasley may ask you about rubber ducks, and Dora and Remus may try crawling all over you, but generally we're harmless."

"I think I need a family tree," Carlotta said.

"Well, we'll try telling you who's who when they turn up," I said. "This is the problem with Nana and Grandpa Weasley being baby machines. They had seven kids, and five of them have had kids. Albus is my brother, sadly, and-"

"_Albus_? I swear that's not what you said before..."

"No, I said Albert before."

"_Albert_?" Mum butted in.

"Well, I could hardly say he was called Albus, could I?" I pointed out.

"What was wrong with something like Alex?" she said.

I blinked.

"I didn't think of that – I was thinking under pressure!"

"_Albert_. The poor, poor boy..."

"Says the woman who christened him Albus Severus," I said flatly, before turning back to Carlotta. "Anyway, so you know Al, and Rosie is my Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione's eldest daughter. Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione were Dad's best mates at school. And here they are ... could you guys have trudged up those steps _any_ slower?" I said loudly, as they reached the top of the steps.

"They're bloody steep!" Rose moaned. "Hi, Carlotta. Alright, Aunt Ginny?"

"Morning, Rose," Mum replied. "Albus, did you even _try_ to comb your hair this morning?"

Albus grimaced, running a hand through his messy hair, which only made it worse.

"Let him be, Mum," I said, grinning. "It's not his fault the gene pool let him down."

"Oh, sod off," he scowled.

It was true that Al was the spitting image of Dad, while Lily was a miniature Mum. I was the hybrid in the family, as people often pointed out; tall, like Dad, with Mum's bright brown eyes – and, luckily, her vision too – Dad's black hair, though it wasn't as messy and had a reddish reddish tint from Mum, and Mum's nose and Dad's mouth thrown in for good measure. Along with the red hair, I'd also avoided the Weasley freckles.

Most people said that I was the best-looking of the Potter children. I disagreed with that on two counts. For one thing, only Al had Grandma Lily's green eyes, which girls went gaga over. I would freely admit that if I could change one thing about my appearance, it would be my eyes. I didn't mind mine, but Dad and Al's eyes just stood out in a way that Mum's brown ones failed to.

The other reason was that, to me at least, Lily was already one of the most beautiful young women I knew. I imagined Mum must have looked the same way at that age – not that she'd lost her looks, but having three children had left her slightly plump and she also showed the stress of raising us. Lily, on the other hand, was short but incredibly athletic and wiry, and pulled off the Weasley hair better than any of the rest of our clan.

"Here's Roxie and Lu, look," Rose said now, sitting down on Carlotta's other side.

Sure enough, two more figures had just Apparated in. Roxanne was unmistakeable, with her dark skin, and the kit bag slung over her shoulder and broomstick in her hand; she was the reserve Chaser. Even if I hadn't been able to tell that the redhead with her was Lucy, it would be a safe assumption to make, as the two of them lived together. As it was, I could tell it was her by the way she was walking. Aunt Audrey had a very springy walk, which she had passed down to her second daughter.

The two split off as they reached the pitch, Roxanne heading to the changing rooms to dump her kit, and Lucy heading towards us.

"Roxie is Uncle George and Aunt Angelina's daughter, and Freddie's sister, obviously," I told Carlotta. "And Lucy is Uncle Percy and Aunt Audrey's daughter."

"You should draw her a family tree, James," Rose joked.

"Off you go, then," I retorted.

"Okay." Rose dug around in her bag, which like Brigid's had an Undetectable Extension Charm on it, and pulled out a roll of parchment and a Self-Inking quill.

"You can tell you're Aunt Hermione's daughter," I said, as she unrolled the parchment on her lap.

"You never know when you might need to write something down," she said, beginning to draw out our family tree for Carlotta. "Okay, so we have the matriarch and patriarch at the top, Nana Molly and Grandpa Arthur. Nana Molly will mother you all she can, so just let her, it'll keep her happy. Grandpa Arthur may ask you lots of questions; Muggles fascinate him, you see, always have. Then there are six kids; the oldest is Uncle Bill, he married Aunt Fleur and they have three kids..."

I looked away from the parchment, to see that Roxanne had emerged from the hut with her broom. She threw her leg over it and kicked off. Lucy, half way up the steps, looked back, and began running the rest of the way up, clearly trying to race Roxanne.

"You lazy little thing," I grinned as Roxanne reached us, hovering in the air.

"Why take the steps?" she shrugged, turning to Lucy, who had just reached the top of the steps and was panting slightly. "Beat you," she grinned. "Hey, what you doing, Rosie?"

"Family tree for Carlotta," she replied, now drawing Uncle George's line. "This is where fatty Roxie comes in..."

"Watch it, ginge," Roxanne said with a grin. "Anyway, nice to properly meet you, Carlotta. I think we've only met once before and we were both quite intoxicated. Not that it was a work night," she added hastily, glancing at Mum.

"Of course not," I added smoothly. "Weekend, wasn't it, Roxie?"

"Naturally. Good conditions, eh? Not much wind, good cloud cover, fairly mild. Makes a change from most years; it's usually rain and a howling gale."

"Don't you go tempting fate," I warned. "But yeah, it should be a good game."

Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione were the next to arrive, along with Hugo, who had gotten permission from Professor Longbottom to leave school for the day.

"Alright, Rosie?" Uncle Ron said, ruffling her hair as he filed into the row in front. "Ready for the game, James?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," I said. My right leg was beginning to twitch. Carlotta put her hand on my thigh to stop it.

"You'll be fine," Uncle Ron said. "You guys are way better than that McLaggen bast-"

"Ronald," Aunt Hermione scolded sharply.

Uncle Ron shot me a wink.

"I saw that," she said dryly.

"Uncle Ron, Aunt Hermione, this is Carlotta," I said hastily before they began rowing, which was a regular occupation of theirs.

"Ah, are you the Muggle girl Gin told us about?" Uncle Ron said curiously.

"That'll be me," she said, smiling slightly. "Unless James has got another Muggle bird on the go."

"Three more," I deadpanned.

"Well, it's lovely to meet you, Carlotta," Aunt Hermione said with a smile. "Don't worry about meeting the rabble; we're all harmless."

"Move along the bus, Mum." Hugo edged along the row in front to reach us. "Hey, I'm Hugo." He held out a hand to Carlotta, which she shook.

"Carlotta." She smiled again, seeming unfazed.

I noticed that she now had Rose's family tree sitting on her lap.

"Here's Lily," Rose said suddenly.

We all looked round to see Lily, Maddie and Kit emerge from the training hut, having Flooed in from Kit's parents' kitchen.

"Lil!" Hugo cried, heading back for the stairs.

"Careful, Hugo!" Aunt Hermione called after him as he took the stairs three at a time to get to Lily, who had spotted him in turn and was running towards him.

They met at the bottom of the stairs, where he picked her up and span her round. Being the same age, they had grown up together, and had been inseparable for years. They'd always assumed that they would be together at Hogwarts, and had been gutted to learn that that wouldn't be the case. They'd stayed close, however, and missed each other when they were at school. Normally they would have visited each other more during the school term, but this year they were both busy with exams.

Once he'd let go of Lily, Hugo shook Kit's hand in greeting, and then turned to Maddie. She evidently said something cheeky, as he bent down and lifted her up, throwing her over his shoulder.

"HUGO!" we heard her scream, as he turned and ran back up the stairs.

"_Honestly_," Aunt Hermione tutted.

"Here's clan Murphy," Mum pointed out.

I glanced down at the four new figures, two of whom were heading towards the training hut, the other two heading towards the stand.

"That'll be my cue to leave soon," I said, as Hugo and Maddie reached us. Hugo set Maddie down; she pushed her hair out of her face, looking disgruntled.

"Thanks, Hugo," she said. "I _do_ like to ascend steps in a ladylike manner, how kind of you for assisting-"

He snorted.

She stuck her tongue out at him, then turned to us.

"Alright, Mrs P? You gonna move any time soon, Jim? I'll have your seat."

"Thanks, Mads, nice to see you too," I said, grinning as I got to my feet. I climbed over the seat in front, and Maddie clambered up to take my seat.

"Alright, Carla?" she said. "Oh, you've gotten a family tree? That's not fair, _we_ never had one. We just had to keep track of everyone mentally."

"You didn't meet everyone all at once," I pointed out, as Lily and Kit reached us, and filed past Carlotta, Maddie and Mum to sit the other side of Albus.

"Would still have been helpful," she said, glancing at it over Carlotta's shoulder. "Cato Bagman here yet?"

"_No_. Hugh, don't let her anywhere near Bagman."

Hugo wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"Not you as well? Alice won't shut up about him."

"Pulled her yet?" Maddie chipped in.

Hugo flushed red.

"No..."

"You Weasleys are all the same; none of you ever make a move," she lamented.

"Hey! I'll have you know that I was the one who made the first move when Harry and I got together, thank you very much!" Mum interjected.

"I don't need to know," Albus said loudly, as Lily clapped her hands over her ears.

I grinned, but turned to greet Brendan Murphy, Brigid and Ryan's dad.

"Hey, Mr Murph," I said, shaking his hand. "Good to see you again."

Mr Murphy's work often took him abroad, and so he wasn't around often. When he was in the country, he tried to get to as many Falcons games as possible, to support both Sinead and Ryan.

"Good to see you too, James," he replied. "Well done on England."

"Thanks," I grinned.

"Hi James, good luck James, scat James," was Brigid's greeting, as Brendan turned to greet Mum.

"I can take a hint."

"Come on, I'll give you a lift," Roxanne said, swinging round from where she'd been chatting to Rose and Lucy.

I put a hand on Hugo's shoulder and stood up on the back of the chair in front of me.

"James!" Mum, Aunt Hermione and Brigid all cried.

Roxanne swung round to face the hut and flew backwards slightly. I jumped from the chair onto the broom, grabbing her waist. The broomstick sank a few inches before adjusting to the extra weight.

"Nothing to worry about!" she said cheerily.

A chorus of good lucks followed us as we flew to the hut and landed by the door to the changing rooms.

"James!"

I turned at the sound of the voice, and grinned, kneeling down as little Dora Lupin ran towards me. She flung her arms round my neck, nearly taking my eye out with her Falcons flag.

"Alright, Dora?" I said, standing up. "You're getting a bit big for me to be picking you up, you know."

As usual, she was adorned in as much Falcons merchandise as possible; she wore the jumper, the scarf and the gloves, had a miniature figure of me in the hand that wasn't holding the flag and had falcons painted on both cheeks.

"Will you win today?" she said.

"Of course we will," I said, tapping her nose lightly.

"Come on Dora, James needs to get ready for his game."

Teddy approached us, his hair currently in the team colours of grey and white. Dora pouted as he took her from me.

"Alright, James?" he said. "Feeling confident?"

"Bit nervous."

"That's part and parcel of playing Quidditch," he grinned. He'd played Quidditch for Gryffindor too. Unfortunately, he'd been in his Seventh Year when I'd been in First Year, so we'd never played together. In fact, it was his spot which I'd filled on the team. "Reckon you'll win, though."

"We should do. We've been shit hot in training. But McLaggen's damn good, and Robins has still got it. Klaus could have trouble getting the Snitch first too; Birch is the current England Seeker."

"But you've got better Beaters."

"You have no idea how nice it is to finally hear that," I grinned. Our Beaters had been our weakness for some time, and so it was nice to finally not have to worry about who was in charge of the Bludgers.

"Although Victoire won't stop harping on about bloody Cato," Teddy said with a scowl.

"Her as _well_?"

"It's his animal magnetism. Come on, Jimmy, we've got a match to prepare for. See you later, Teddy!"

Della and Klaus had arrived, and Della was currently tugging on my sleeve.

"We'll chat later, James," Teddy said quickly, before heading off to the stands.

"You managed to get your Chiquita in then?" Della said, as we followed Klaus into the meeting room.

"Yeah ... how can you tell she's here?"

"Nobody else has that colouring," she pointed out. "Dropping her in at the deep end, aren't you? Throwing all the family at her at once."

"She wanted to come," I said, shrugging. "Besides, she's already met a lot of people, and I've left her under Mum's wing, she'll be fine."

"Except you've left her between Lily's nutter mate and Rose," she said dryly.

"She'll be fine," I repeated.

The worst bit about a match day was the waiting. Once we were all changed into our Quidditch robes, there was nothing to do but sit and wait.

With twenty minutes to go, Sinead stood up and clapped her hands loudly.

"Go and warm up," she said.

We stood up and grabbed our brooms, filing out of the hut. The stand had filled up considerably in the time that we'd been inside. As I mounted Fiona and kicked off, I glanced at the people in the stand, my eyes finding the mass of redheads, intermingled with a couple of blondes and dark heads. I could only see one mess of black hair. I turned back to Ryan and Della, trying to ignore the feeling of disappointment in the pit of my stomach.

"Race you round the pitch!" Della said with a grin.

After three laps, Ryan, who was the fastest flier, had pulled out a good half a lap on Della and me, and pulled to a halt by our hoops, waiting for us to catch up with him.

"Do you want us to practice any drills?" he asked Della; as the most experienced Chaser, she tended to lead our warm ups.

"Do you think we need to?"

"Not really," he said, shrugging. "Best to save it all for the match."

The Tornados had followed our cue, and were also out on the pitch warming up.

"Good idea," I said, glaring at Jeremiah McLaggen, who was showing off by the stands.

"Prick," Ryan said calmly.

"He's a bit of a berk, isn't he?" Cato observed, joining us. He was swinging his arms round in circles, a frightening sight given that his bat was in his right hand.

"He always was one," Ryan replied, eying the bat warily. "You should think yourself lucky on three counts; you didn't have to share a common room with him, you didn't have to be his team mate –captaining him was a _nightmare_ – and you get to hit balls of iron at him."

Cato grinned.

"There are perks to the job," he said.

After a quick warm up, we headed back to the hut for a few last minute preparations.

"Don't gamble with catching the Snitch, Klaus," Sinead said. "A big points difference would be good, but we can't risk Birch catching the Snitch first."

He nodded. Sinead then turned to Ryan, Della and me.

"As many goals as possible, guys. Don't let them get possession if possible. Remember, they don't defend well against speed."

Ryan and I glanced at each other. We both had a quicker pass than Della, and so we were going to have to take the fore in this match. We knew that already, of course; it had been part of our plans all week. Sinead was just jogging our memories.

"And Plumpton is weak on his right, so aim for his left hoop."

There was a knock on the door. The referee was summoning us onto the pitch.

"Off you go then, boys and girls. Good luck, do your best, get the win," Sinead finished.

We all nodded, and Alfie led us out onto the pitch, where the Tornados were already waiting for us. We gathered into a huddle.

Alfie didn't say anything for a moment, and when he did, it wasn't much.

"Let's beat their sorry little asses."

He wasn't one for words.

We broke away from the huddle, and crossed to shake hands with the Tornados, as was customary. Following the English code of cordiality, Tamsin Robins and the Seeker, Jessica Birch gave me friendly smiles. McLaggen, however, squeezed my hand so tightly I thought he was trying to break it, and glared harshly at me, as was his wont.

"Up in the air!" The referee called once we'd all shaken hands.

We mounted our brooms and kicked off. Alfie and their Keeper, Plumpton, headed to their respective goalposts. Klaus and Jessica both shot up above the rest of us, to keep out of the way of the fight for the Quaffle. The Bagmans and the Tornados' Beaters were on guard with their bats, ready to steer the Bludgers away from their players.

I took the chance to glance once more at the stand, and my heart sank. Still no Dad.

I turned my attention back to the pitch, trying to push aside the feelings of disappointment, as the referee kicked the chest of balls open. I had a game to concentrate on.

The Snitch flew straight up into the air; Klaus and Jessica both tried to follow it with their eyes but it soon vanished out of sight. They were unable to pursue it until the Quaffle was released.

Then the Bludgers were released. They shot straight up into the air, and the four Beaters all dashed in to control them.

But our eyes were on the Quaffle, which the referee was about to throw into the air. I tightened my hands round my broom handle in anticipation, waiting...

And then it was released.

Ryan darted in, as did McLaggen – but Ryan wasn't going for the Quaffle. He successfully blocked McLaggen, as Della dived in and scooped up the Quaffle and then evaded Tamsin and their third Chaser to get the Quaffle away to me. I shot up the left hand side of the pitch, ducking the Bludger that their Beater had hit my way. McLaggen crossed to intercept me, and I threw the Quaffle up-

Where Ryan caught it, six feet above me, and shot off towards the posts, Della on his shoulder. He passed to her as Tamsin approached, and then dropped away as Della reached the posts. Plumpton was there, hovering in front of the middle hoop but ready to dart either way, as she pulled her arm back, aimed-

And dropped it.

Right into the hands of Ryan, who threw it up and through the left hoop. Plumpton, six feet too high, had no chance of getting to it.

I vaguely heard the cheers from the stand as the Quaffle sailed through the hoop, and I held out a hand to high-five Della as she headed back towards the centre of the pitch.

"That was a gift," she said as I tailed her back. "They won't give us an easy one like that again."

And she was right. After they'd conceded the early goal, they raised their game. Their third Chaser, Ruby Ellerby, was a plucky young thing whom I remembered vaguely from Hogwarts; she had played for Hufflepuff, and been a stand out in their team. She'd clearly been given the job of marking me and, to my annoyance, she was occasionally managing to snatch the Quaffle from me.

"What the hell are you playing at?" Della hissed at me after Ellerby had managed to intercept the Quaffle and score.

"She came out of nowhere-"

"Then don't let her! Remember what Sinead said, what we've been practicing. _Fast passes_. You take the middle, I'll take the left."

I glanced over at the scoreboard. We were sixty points up. A reasonable cushion, but nowhere near enough. If Jessica caught the Snitch now, we were dead and buried.

I snatched the Quaffle up on the restart and threw it straight out to Ryan, who shot off up the pitch. Following Della's orders, I switched with her, and headed after him. He passed to me, just as McLaggen was reaching him. The Quaffle barely touched my hand before I passed it back. Within moments, it returned to me.

Sure enough, the fast passing was too much for the inexperienced Ellerby to snatch it up, and McLaggen was too slow to intercept. Tamsin, who might have been able to get a fingertip to it, was too busy marking Della.

As we reached the hoops, with Plumpton waiting, Ryan aimed. Plumpton drifted ever so slightly towards him, and Ryan instead passed to me, where I was greeted with an unmarked left hoop. The rest was easy.

"Nice!" Della said as we headed back for the restart. "We're making them switch it up, Robins and McLaggen are having to swap..."

It clearly hadn't been part of the Tornados' initial plan, to have their two female Chasers marking me and Ryan. They'd evidently decided to match their biggest Chaser up against ours. Unfortunately for them, while McLaggen's bulk slowed him down, Ryan was deceptively fast.

"Just be careful not to try that again too soon," Della added, "or their Beaters may get wise to it."

And they did. Four plays later, Ryan and I attempted another sequence of fast passes, but one of their Beaters sent a Bludger between us, forcing us to scatter, and Ellerby scooped up the Quaffle. Luckily, Cleo was on the scene, and smacked the Bludger towards Ellerby, who promptly dropped the Quaffle. Della recovered it, and we resumed our usual formation.

We hadn't been affected by the Bludgers that much so far, I suddenly realised. Clearly, the Bagmans were doing their job extremely well.

And sure enough, moments later, a scoring move of the Tornados' was quashed by a duel effort by Cato and Cleo, the double attack forcing them to abort. Alfie recovered the Quaffle, and lobbed it back to Della.

Unfortunately, not all the Tornados' Bludger attacks were stopped by the twins. A few moves later, as I was in the process of scoring, one of their Beaters aimed the Bludger at my arm. I pulled my hand back once I'd sent the Quaffle sailing through the hoop, but I wasn't fast enough, and the Bludger caught my fingers.

"Shit!" I cried, pulling my hand into my chest.

"Time out!" Della shrieked from behind me.

The referee's whistle blew, and I wheeled round to face Della, who was flying towards me, looking concerned.

"Let's have a shifty," she said, holding her hand out. I placed my hand in hers; my fingers were out of place and were already swelling up. "Broken bones there, Jim. You gonna be alright to carry on?"

"I'll be fine," I said, trying to ignore the throbbing pain.

Cleo joined us, looking horrified.

"James, I'm so sorry, I tried to get to it but I couldn't-"

"It's fine; it doesn't hurt much," I lied; admitting to pain wasn't very masculine at all. "You could kiss them better if you want?" I offered my hand out to her.

"Watch it, Potter."

I grinned cheekily as Cato appeared at Cleo's shoulder.

"Worth a try."

"Alright, Junior?" Ryan asked as he joined the huddle.

"Just a couple of fingers, nothing serious."

"In that case, man up and stop moaning," he said with a grin.

"Cleo, do you mind if I borrow your bat for a moment?" I asked sweetly.

"What's happened?" Alfie had finally reached us from the opposite end of the pitch.

"Bludger caught Jimmy's fingers," Della said. "Sorry I called the time out, Alf..."

"It's fine; I couldn't see a thing from back there anyway," he said. "You gonna be alright, Jim?"

The pain was getting worse, but I nodded, gritting my teeth. We were still only ninety points ahead; the game was far from won.

"Right, we'll get back on with things then, shall we?" He turned, signalling to the referee that we were ready to restart.

We all resumed our positions. Klaus had continued his circling of the pitch during the time out; generally Seekers only abandoned their search for the Snitch if the Captain ordered them to. A movement in the stands caught my eye, and I turned to see what it was. My heart leapt as I saw not one messy haircut, but two. I grinned.

I was sure as hell going to remind Dad that this was the right career choice.

It was a good thing that Sinead had us practice catching and passing with both hands. At first, I tried to play on with my right, but the Quaffle kept catching my fingers, causing more sharp pain. In the end, I was forced to resort to using my left hand, a risky move as it made me more susceptible to being caught out. Luckily though, the change seemed to confuse the Tornados Chasers, and by the time they'd adjusted, we'd managed to pull ahead by another thirty points.

But soon, even that became difficult. I could normally fly without holding the broom handle, but occasionally I needed a hand on the handle for balance, and I couldn't grip at all with my right.

"Del, we need to do more dummies and decoys," I said after they'd taken advantage of a mistake of mine and scored.

She glanced at my bloody and swollen hand, but didn't say anything, instead nodding and signalling across to Ryan the new plan.

This gameplan played into Della's hands perfectly, as this was where she excelled. She then took utter control of the game, completely bamboozling their Chasers, who had absolutely no idea when she was and wasn't going to pass the Quaffle. Her best trick was when she'd looked right, towards Ryan, and aimed as if to pass to him, pulling her right arm back – only to fling the Quaffle backwards, into my awaiting arms. Moments later, Ryan had the Quaffle and was scoring once more.

"One-twenty up," she panted. "Hurry the hell up, Klaus!" she moaned.

The Tornados pulled back two quick goals. My hand was feeling so heavy that I thought it might drop off any moment.

And then Klaus dived.

Jessica followed him. She was lighter, and so was beginning to catch him, but wasn't quite fast enough, and he rose upwards, clutching the Snitch in his right hand.

The rest of the team headed towards him, whooping and hollering, but I didn't follow them. Instead I headed straight to the stands. I stopped in front of Mum, and held my now swollen and bloody hand out.

"Mummy, fix my fingers," I said.

"James!" she cried. "Look at them! You should have gotten them mended in the time out!"

"Dad carried on playing with a broken arm; I figured what were a couple of broken fingers?" I pointed out as she drew her wand.

"You're both as idiotic as each other," she sighed. "_Episkey_." My fingers straightened, and the pain all but vanished. "Besides, at least he ended the game moments later; you had to play through! _Tergeo_."

"Yes, well, I _was_ hoping Brand would take pity on me, but he decided that we could score some more goals first." I turned to Carlotta. "Enjoy that?"

"It was amazing!" she said, looking utterly exhilarated. "You were really good..."

I pulled a face.

"I was okay," I said. "Could've been better, especially after my fingers broke-"

"Your fault," Mum reminded me. "Now, go and have a shower, you stink."

"Love you too, Mum." I reached over and gave her a hug, ignoring her protests, then headed to join the rest of the team, whose huddle had reached the ground.

"All fixed?" Della said brightly, a huge grin on her face.

"Good as new," I grinned, waggling my fingers.

Cleo looked relieved.

"Don't worry about it!" I said, throwing an arm round her shoulders. "Happens all the time. Murph had his elbow bent backwards by a Bludger last season. You two were _incredible_; half the time I forgot the Bludgers were on the pitch!"

She smiled, looking a bit happier.

Sinead then joined us.

"Not bad, guys," she said. We all knew what she meant, though. In Sinead language that was a firm 'Could do better', and I knew that we all agreed with her. "Now, bugger off and shower, all of you."

We didn't need telling twice.

I showered quickly, and headed back out to the pitch, where some of the spectators were mingling with the players. Sinead had procured some Butterbeer, and handed me a bottle as I passed her.

I joined Carlotta, who was standing with Dominique and Lucy.

"Well played, Jim," Dominique said cheerily.

"Cheers, Dom. Good honeymoon?"

"Really good, thanks. How did the England training go?"

"Alright, so long as I steered clear of McLaggen."

She pulled a face.

"He's an utter plank," she declared.

"Ladies! Have a mead on me," Della said loudly, clutching a crate of what looked suspiciously like-

"Heidelberg mead? _Again_? Really, Della?" Lucy looked at the crate with trepidation.

"The more you drink, the more you'll get used to it!" she said, handing Lucy a bottle. "Dom? One for the wedding, eh?"

"Why not," Dominique said in an amused voice, taking the bottle Della handed to her.

"Carlotta?"

"Huh?"

She had been staring aimlessly around the pitch, looking at nothing in particular. She turned her head at the sound of her name.

"Mead?" Della proffered a third bottle to her.

"That's the stuff you tried at mine," I prompted.

"It's wizarding stuff?" she said. "I should have guessed. Thanks." She took the bottle.

Della then turned to me.

"I don't think you need mead at this time of day, Junior-"

"Hand it over, Brand," I said sternly.

"But you've already got a Butterbeer-"

"Adelheid..."

She laughed loudly.

"Go on, then. Celebrate your goals, Jim."

I took the bottle, and took a large swig.

"Cheers, Del."

"No worries." She turned to Dominique. "So, how was the honeymoon? Where did you go?"

Carlotta pulled me off to one side as Dominique began to gush about her holiday.

"James," she murmured to me, "you said your mum was one of seven."

"Yeah, she was. Why?"

"Well, Rose only put six names on the tree..."

I winced slightly.

"Uncle George had a twin," I said quietly. "Fred. That's who Freddie is named for. But ... he died, when he was twenty."

"How?"

"Caught up in an explosion," I said, not wanting to elaborate; now wasn't the time to give her the whole story.

"James, we're going to have to make a move now, Remus is playing up," Teddy said apologetically, joining us. "Are you free at all this week? We could go out for a quiet drink one evening."

Teddy and I used to talk a lot. Unfortunately, now he had a family of his own and I was a professional Quidditch player, we saw each other a lot less. We hadn't had a proper catch up in months.

"Monday at the Leaky?"

"Sounds good," he grinned. "Well done on the win. Nice to meet you, Carlotta. See you Monday, James!"

And then he left, with Victoire and the kids.

"You would go for one of my free nights," Carlotta lamented.

"You were going to ask to do something?" I said, grinning.

"Well, if I'm not at work, then getting drunk with you always seems like a good plan." She began massaging her neck with her free hand, wincing.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, fine, just a bit stiff."

"I'll give you a massage if you want?" I volunteered.

She laughed.

"You've just played a game of Quidditch, shouldn't you be the one needing the massage?"

"You can pay me back later," I winked, setting my bottles of Butterbeer and mead down on the grass and turning her round.

"I look forward to it," she said dryly, as I began massaging her shoulders. "Ooh, yeah, that's the spot..."

"Kinky," Freddie said, grinning, as he strolled over to join us. "Whose is the mead?"

"Mine-"

Freddie picked it up and took a large swig from it.

"-but you can have it if you want," I finished dully.

"Cheers," he said. "Hey, who's the Tornados' new Chaser? She looks familiar..."

"Ruby Ellerby, Hufflepuff, couple of years below us at school."

"She's hot..."

"If you value all your body parts, I _really_ wouldn't talk to her..."

But he was gone. With my mead.

"Bloody bastard."

"Huh? What did he say? I drifted off..." Carlotta turned her head slightly.

"Short attention span?" I joked.

Her shoulders tensed up again beneath my fingers.

"I should be going," she mused.

"You alright?" I said, confused.

"Huh? Yeah, I'm fine. I just ... I need to be going. Is there any other way I can get home, or-"

"I'll Apparate you back to mine, it's not a problem. Do you want to say goodbye to anyone first?"

"No, I need to go." She turned back to face me, but didn't make eye contact.

"Okay, I'll take you back," I said soothingly. "Come on."

Once we were back at mine, she headed straight for the door.

"Do I get my massage later then?" I said with a smirk.

She turned back to face me, her hand on the door handle, and smiled weakly.

"Maybe somewhen in the week. I'll call you. Unless you call me first, I guess. See you."

And then she was gone, leaving me standing in the living room, thoroughly confused.


	19. nineteen

"...and then she left."

Teddy blinked at me.

"She _left_?"

"Yup. Go figure." I took a slurp of butterbeer, and set the tankard back down on the pub table in front of me.

We were sitting in the Three Broomsticks, as we'd arranged, and we'd barely been there five minutes before I'd blurted out what had happened two days previously with Carlotta.

Teddy had been like an older brother when I'd been growing up. Until he'd gone to Hogwarts when I was five, I'd seen him at least three times a week and even after that, we'd seen a lot of him during the holidays. I used to talk to him much more –I felt less sure about dumping my problems on him now that he had a wife and kids – but now that we finally had a chance to talk properly, for the first time since Dominique's wedding over two months previously, it was all coming out.

Teddy frowned.

"Well ... has she talked to you since?"

"Not a word. She said she might ring. I figured my best bet is to wait for her to ring me, rather than try to chase her ... I mean, I don't do chasing girls _anyway_, and besides, I wouldn't want to push her if she's not happy with me..."

"Why wouldn't she be happy with you? You haven't done anything wrong ... unless you've kept something back?" he added, looking at me warily.

"I've told you everything, exactly how it happened."

"In that case, as far as I can see, you've done nothing wrong." He shifted in his seat slightly. "Maybe she was just nervous? I mean, you _did_ throw her in at the deep end, she met a lot of people all at once."

"Yeah, I guess ... but then, she wanted to come. It's not like I forced her..."

"That doesn't make coming face to face with half the wizarding population in one day any easier," he pointed out.

I wrinkled my nose.

"True..."

"It'll be fine. She'll ring you in a couple of days, I expect. Or you could always ring her first?"

I said nothing, merely raised an eyebrow.

"Eh ... scratch that thought." He drained his tankard. "Just ... be careful, Jim. Remember, she _is_ a Muggle."

I stared at him for a moment.

"Ted ... she already _knows_ about us, there's nothing to worry about..."

"I'm not talking about _you_, I'm talking about _her_. Don't forget, she has a family, she has friends, and none of _them_ can know about us. And ... well, things seem to be getting a bit serious between you..."

I snorted.

"Serious? We see each other every now and again, that's no more serious than anything I've had with any other bird..."

"She went to the game," he pointed out.

"Cassie went to my games. So did Vivienne before her, and Astrid before Viv. It's hardly a big thing."

"It is when you had to break countless Muggle Repelling charms and wards just to get her there. I mean, taking a witch along is one thing, but going to all these lengths? Seems a bit-"

"Look, I like her, Teddy," I interrupted. "She's a good laugh. She's uncomplicated. She's not looking for any sort of commitment. All she asks is that I go to _her_ nightclub instead of the Hinky. It's a no-brainer!"

"But her friends can't find out about you," Teddy repeated.

"I _know_. And they won't-"

"And what's going to happen afterwards? When it all ends, like it always does? When you get bored, or she decides she _does_ want to make it official? Are you just going to walk off and ditch her, like you have with the others before her? Walk off and leave her knowing about the existence of a universe she'll never live in, a universe she should never have found out about? This ... this isn't _good_, James. And I'm sorry, because you've probably heard all this from your parents, and from Brigid, and from Lily, and I know I'm the last person you'd want lecturing you, but ... this is a big thing, you know. It's not all fun and games; at the end of the day, this is a young woman's life we're talking about here."

I groaned, and rested my head in my hands.

"I _know_, Teddy, I really do..."

"Then, what are you going to do?"

I raised my head.

"Well, I can hardly just walk away from it all now, can I?" I chewed my lip. "I've been thinking about this a lot recently, you know..."

It wasn't a lie. Those thoughts had plagued me on and off since I'd told Carlotta about the magical world, and the more she found out, the more involved in our world she became, the more I found myself lying awake at night wondering what to do. Was it really fair for her to spend her life knowing of our existence? The knowledge wouldn't necessarily affect her ... but after all she'd already seen, after all I'd told her, would she really want to let it all go?

But I didn't see what other options I _had_. Despite the cons of the other options, there was no way I'd opt to have her memory wiped. It was cruel. Hell, it was _beyond_ cruel. I'd seen the affects of Memory Charms before, and hadn't liked what I'd seen. And it would be a lot to make her forget, especially as every day this went on, she learned more and more.

The only other option was-

"Stick with her," Teddy shrugged, his thoughts catching up with mine. "I guess that's your only option, for now. You like her, it wouldn't be so bad. I don't get what this whole thing with you and commitment is anyway; maybe it's about time you actually got together with someone?"

"I'm only twenty-one, Teddy," I reasoned.

"I was married with a child on the way by the time I was your age."

"But that's _different_. You grew up knowing Vic, you knew practically as soon as you started dating her that you wanted to marry her-"

"We were reckless, you mean," he said humourously.

"Reckless is a _strong_ word ... the point is, you knew she was the person you wanted to settle down with, and more to the point, you wanted to settle down in the first place. I don't know that I do. Heck, can you even _imagine_ me married to someone?"

"Not with your flat in the state it is, no." He grinned. "Besides, you're getting a bit ahead of yourself here, Jimmy. I didn't say anything about marriage. I just suggested ... working at ... It. This ... thing you've got with Carlotta. Whatever it is. Because you don't_ have_ to drop her, like you have everyone else..."

"There's still no guarantee that it won't end though," I pointed out. "I mean, _she's_ not looking for anything serious either; that's the point. And even if she _was_, it could still end! And then, the longer I spend with her, in whatever capacity, the more she finds out, and..." I sighed heavily. "Merlin, Teddy, I've screwed things up big time, haven't I?"

"Don't be daft, you haven't screwed things up," he said gently. "Not _yet_, anyway-"

"You think I will?"

"No ... that was the wrong thing to say, wasn't it?" He smiled again, wryly this time. "My point is, nothing's gone _wrong_. Aside from her finding out about magic, but that ended fine. Okay, it _could_ have gone wrong, but I'm not the type of person to worry about what ifs, and neither are you. And this doesn't _need_ to go wrong. I mean, even if things don't work out between you, in whichever guise suits you best, you don't have to _distance_ yourself from her. You can still stay friendly with her. I mean, things can't have ended badly with _all_ your previous..." He tailed off, seeing the expression on my face.

"Trust me," I said, "things have ended badly _a lot _of times."

He frowned for a moment.

"Well," he said eventually, "if she's definitely not looking for commitment, and isn't going to _start_, then what could go wrong?"

* * *

><p>The team for the next match was announced on Wednesday. There were only two changes from last week's team; Stefan replaced Klaus as Seeker – and Roxanne was to play instead of me.<p>

"Team rotation, guys, nothing more than that," Sinead said reassuringly.

Nevertheless, she pulled me off to one side after she'd broken up the meeting.

"I don't want you to think you're being dropped," she said quietly. "Because you're not. I know you played every game last season, and you were probably hoping to do the same this season, especially as there are fewer matches and with England watching you. I spoke to Tamsin Robins after the Tornados game, and she said she was very impressed with you. But Roxanne needs a game too. And the only reason why it's you she's replacing is that the Arrows read you well last time, but they struggled to deal with Ryan's speed. That's all it is. In an ideal world, I'd play all four of you, but that's not possible. Picking who to leave out is incredibly hard, because you're all very talented. But someone has to miss out, and this time it just happens to be you. You'll play next weekend against the Magpies though, I promise you that."

I smiled – a genuine smile, not at all forced.

"It's fine," I said. "You're right, Roxie _does_ need a game. And besides, Appleby is a horrible place to play anyway. I don't mind missing out."

She returned the smile, before giving me a stern look.

"No going wild on Friday night, though. You're Chaser reserve. You need to be at the ground fit and ready to go on Saturday morning."

I pulled a face. I didn't mind not playing, and I enjoyed watching the matches I wasn't playing in, but being a reserve was awkward. I wouldn't take part in the main practices before the game, but I'd still need to know the tactics we were adopting, in case I was drafted in at the last moment. I'd also have to be at the ground just as early as if I were playing. In contrast the other Chasers, Julia and Laura, wouldn't even have to turn up, though I knew they would. We were a tight-knit squad with a lot of team spirit, and it was unheard of for anybody to miss a game without good reason. But they could have a lie-in, which was much more than I'd be able to do.

Watching Roxanne training with Della and Ryan felt peculiar. It had been a long time since I'd missed a game, and even longer since I'd been deliberately omitted. I knew and agreed with the reasoning, but it didn't make things any easier.

Mere moments after I'd arrived home from Thursday's training, I was surprised by a visit from Carlotta.

"I can't stay long, I'm on my work break," she said quickly as I let her in. "I just wanted to apologise for dashing off on Saturday."

"It's fine." I shrugged. "I'm sure my family are quite daunting-"

"Oh, no, I was fine with them. They were lovely. It's just ... well, it's my flatmate, Flick. She's having ... she's having difficulties right now, and I wanted to get back to see if she was okay. I'm sorry, it probably seemed quite rude-"

"Not at all," I said. My main feeling was relief that my family hadn't scared her off – and more to the point, that _I_ hadn't done anything. "It's fine, don't worry about it." I smiled, and she returned it more weakly.

"Do you have a game at the weekend?" she asked curiously.

"_We_ do, but I'm not playing in it."

She looked slightly bemused.

"Why not? I thought you played well last weekend. Is it because of your fingers?"

I grinned.

"Broken fingers are easy to fix in the world of magic. They're not an issue at all. Sinead, our manager, just wants to give Roxanne a match, and she's totally right to do so. I'll have to go anyway; I'll be Chaser reserve, but I doubt I'll play. I'm hoping I won't, anyway. Are you going to come with us on Sunday, then? Lily's hockey thing?"

"If you want me to," she said with a nonchalant shrug. "I'll have to try to get the day off work though, which might be hard, although I can possibly switch with Saturday – unless you want me to go to the Quidditch match anyway, that is? I don't mind if you do..."

"Trust me," I said, grinning, "you don't want to come. If things go to plan, we'll be there for hours."

* * *

><p>At first glance, Quidditch wasn't a massively tactical game. The Chasers just scored goals until the Seeker caught the Snitch and ended the game. Simple ... right?<p>

In reality, there was much more to it than that. In our game against the Tornados, a strong team with a Seeker who was too good to allow us to risk anything, our game-plan had been simple; us Chasers had to try to score as many goals as possible, as fast as possible. Ideally, one-hundred-and-fifty was the magic number, the cushion of points which would guarantee us a win even if Klaus hadn't caught the Snitch. But Klaus had had the biggest role; he'd had to catch the Snitch before their Seeker Jessica, and so long as Alfie stopped the Tornados from scoring fifteen goals, that would guarantee a win for us. That was all that mattered; we weren't prepared to risk losing the match just to try to get a bigger points difference.

The Arrows match was a totally different story. They were one of the weaker teams, and so we could aim for a riskier strategy. The League table was based on points difference. This meant that we were roughly mid-table despite our win against the Tornados, as other teams like Puddlemere and the Kestrels had played weaker teams and so had won their matches by larger points margins. This weekend was our chance to extend our own points difference.

The game plan here was to keep the match going for as long as possible. Their Seeker was one of the weaker ones in the League, so Stefan's job was not to catch the Snitch himself, but to keep their Seeker away from it for as long as possible. Meanwhile, Della, Ryan and Roxanne were expected to score as many goals as possible, to try to give us a big points difference.

Last weekend it had been about keeping possession of the Quaffle. This weekend, it was about endurance. There was a reason why I wasn't too bothered about missing this match of all matches.

And while this seemed like an easy baptism for Roxanne, in reality it was anything but.

The Weasley contingent was slightly smaller than it had been at the Tornados match. Lily, of course, was busy with her hockey tournament, so she, Maddie and Kit, were absent from the stand. Dad, Al and Rose were supporting her. Having seen plenty of my matches, Rose had always planned to spend the weekend cheering on Lily, but had hesitated when Roxanne was included in the team, unsure which cousin to support. Roxanne had solved the issue by insisting she watch Lily. "It's not as though I won't have enough support," she said in the changing rooms , grinning wryly.

Percy and Molly were both supposedly 'busy' with work. They both hated Quidditch and I had actually been surprised to see them at the Tornados match, so none of us batted an eyelid at this. Hugo was also missing as Hogwarts were hesitant to let their students leave at weekends.

Everyone else, however, was there, including Mum, who'd clearly done a fair amount of grovelling at the _Prophet_'s sport offices to bag our first two games. As the Senior Quidditch Reporter, the bigwigs at the paper tended to send her to the bigger matches. Our game against the Tornados had certainly been the biggest fixture of the previous weekend, but with the Kestrels playing the Harpies, and Puddlemere playing the Tornados – along with the England subtext in the latter fixture – it was surprising that she was covering our match this weekend.

In the stands, I bagged a seat next to Aunt Hermione. She wasn't always the best person to sit with at a match, but I was no mug. This match had the potential to go on for a while, and Aunt Hermione tended to come to these matches prepared with food, drinks and Heating Charms.

Not that I'd experienced this before. But Freddie, who was sitting the other side of her, was a veteran at Quidditch spectating by now, and he'd learned her tricks fairly quickly.

Uncle Ron grumbled as he came to sit down.

"Can't I sit next to my own wife?" he said, as he took the seat in front of her, next to Mum.

"You'd only argue with each other if you did," Freddie chipped in cheekily, and then dodged to avoid the inevitable clip to the ear from Aunt Hermione.

"Roxanne doesn't look too nervous," she then observed, as the team flew out onto the pitch.

"She's totally laid back," I said, having been in the changing rooms with them earlier. "Nerves of steel, that girl."

"Yeah, she'll be fine," Brigid added, joining us. "The only worry is whether she lasts the full match. We could be in for a long haul here."

And indeed we were. Two hours in, Aunt Hermione brought out the pumpkin juice and sandwiches. After another two hours, out came the Chocolate Frogs. A few of the faster ones slipped out of our fingers and hopped off towards the pitch.

"Oops," Brigid giggled.

Five hours into the match, Aunt Hermione pulled some bottles of Butterbeer out of her bag.

"You haven't got any Firewhisky in there, have you?" Uncle Ron asked hopefully, receiving a smack round the head from her bag for his troubles.

After six hours, Albus and Rose joined us, their arms full of hot burgers.

"You are amazing," I said, taking one from Al.

Uncle Ron, who was less sure of Muggle food, looked wary.

"It's alright, Dad, they won't harm you," Rose said, sounding amused.

"How did the girls get on?" Mum asked eagerly.

"Topped their group. The knock-out stages are tomorrow. I felt exhausted just _watching_ them play!" Al said, as he sat down next to Mum.

"So you've come to watch the tail-end of a marathon Quidditch match to liven you up a bit," I grinned.

"How's Roxie been doing?" Rose asked.

"When I've been watching, she's been playing well." As much as I loved Quidditch, there was only so much of it I could watch in one go before my concentration began to wane. "She's tiring, though. They all are. Stefan will have to catch the Snitch soon; we've got a huge points buffer. There's no point in making them play on any longer, not when we've got a game next weekend."

It was as though Stefan had heard me. Twenty minutes later, he caught the Snitch, and the relieved expressions on the faces of the Chasers were unmistakeable.

Needless to say, none of us loitered for very long after the match, the team all wanting to get home as soon as possible. Mum caught me just before I left, having congratulated the players.

"Are you coming tomorrow?"

"Of course I am!" I said indignantly. "Carlotta is too."

Mum raised an eyebrow.

"I'll cook breakfast for you both tomorrow morning; make sure you're round nice and early. Your Dad will drive us all there. And don't be late!" she added as a parting shot, just before I Disapparated.

My mother had such a lack of faith in me.

* * *

><p>Carlotta and I turned up at Mum and Dad's just as Mum was dishing up eight plates of breakfast. Carlotta seemed relaxed again, which puzzled me slightly; I felt certain that I'd be feeling nervous if I'd been in her shoes. But then, she'd already met everyone so perhaps that why she was feeling relaxed.<p>

Freddie, Brigid, Al and Rose had beaten us there, and were already sitting around the kitchen table tucking into their breakfasts. We joined them, and for a few minutes nobody spoke, as we all wolfed down our food. In fact, Carlotta said nothing until we left the house to get into the car.

"Where's the other car?" she said with a frown, glancing around.

Freddie looked at her oddly.

"What do you mean, 'the other car'? How many do we need?"

"We can't fit eight of us in one-"

"Magic, dear. It's larger on the inside," Mum said gently, as she got into the front of the car after Rose. The rest of us scrambled into the back, which was very roomy. I didn't often think about the size of the interior, but now that I _did_, I supposed that the charms on it did a huge job – after all, whenever I was in Maddie's car it felt far smaller than Dad's.

"This is mad..." Carlotta breathed.

Dad chuckled as he reversed the car off the drive.

The school holding the tournament wasn't far from where Mum and Dad lived, so it didn't take us long to get there. Al and Rose, who knew where they were going, led us round to the pitches, where some teams were practicing on the pitches and others were in discussions, presumably about tactics.

"There they are." Al pointed to a small group of people standing in a huddle not far from us. Most of them were wearing the navy blue kit of Lily and Maddie's school, but I noticed Maddie's brother and sister were also there.

They were first up, so we all took our seats in the temporary stand to watch them. Kit and his parents joined us.

"How good were they yesterday?" Brigid asked him.

"Very good. Impressive, since they've only been playing this form of the game a few months. Maddie ran the show for them. You could tell she's played before."

"How different is it with only seven players?" I asked curiously.

"Oh, it's totally different. They normally have eleven players, and they'd play with a lot more shape to their game. They play this on the same size pitch, with only seven players. It's all about attacking in this format. And there's a _lot_ of running about too."

But it was Maddie who explained it best, after they'd played – and won – their first match.

"Imagine playing Quidditch with only four people," she said, panting heavily. "Imagine the extra ground you'd have to cover – although ground is the wrong word to use here, given that you guys fly. And in fact, even that's not a perfect comparison, because Quidditch has so many different components to it. But if you think about it, we're used to having ten team mates. Here, we only have six. And there's less time in a match too – which is a small mercy because I definitely wouldn't survive a full match with only six other players! But you just have to go for it. That's why Lily's in, because she's absolutely rapid. And, as much as I hate to say it, that's why Rosalind's in the team as well. Even if she _has_ been batting her eyelashes at Robbie all weekend. You'll have to divert her attention, James, I don't trust him to have a good judge of character."

I grinned.

"No chance," I said.

She pulled a face, and took a large gulp of water.

"I hear you guys had a marathon match yesterday?" she said.

"A deliberate marathon. Wanted to rack up the points. I'm glad I didn't play, it was over six hours long."

"This is why Quidditch is a daft sport," she said, but she was smiling. "Good to know you guys got the win, though. Hopefully it'll rub off on us..."

Just then, she was called away by her coach.

Maddie's mother, brother Robbie and sister Lottie joined us in the stands for the girls' second match.

"How well do you reckon they're doing, Robbo?" Kit asked.

"Not bad," Robbie replied. "They just need to stop losing concentration, they're conceding a couple of daft goals. Overall I'm impressed, though. And jealous, too. I wish one of the local boys' schools had done something like this!"

"Rather you than me." Kit pulled a face.

"Maddie is _really_ good," Carlotta said in awe as the girl in question scored. "She must put so much time into it..."

"Oh, hockey's just a bit of fun for Maddie," said Mrs Bennett, overhearing our conversation. "Tennis is the big one for her. She could have left school last summer and gone professional, but she wanted to finish her studies first. She's got her head screwed on right."

After Mrs Bennett had turned away to talk to Mum, Carlotta turned to face me with an incredulous expression on her face.

"This is for _fun_? She could play _professional tennis_?"

"Yeah, and your point is? Professional athlete here, baby." I smirked at her.

"Yes, but that's different..."

"Are you trying to downplay my achievements?" I cried, but with a smirk nevertheless.

"No, but ... well, that's _different_-"

"How is it different?"

"Well ... look, professional in _our_ sports actually means something to me! And ... well, that's impressive..."

"Their school is pretty big on sport," I supplied. "And she's from a talented sporting family. You saw Lottie and Robbie in their team huddle. They both played lots of sports at school too."

"But why put it off for a year? Surely if she had the chance, she should have taken it at the first opportunity?"

"She didn't want to leave Lily," I said simply. Carlotta looked bemused. "Look, Maddie ... she's not had an easy time of it." I lowered my voice slightly. "Her dad ... well, he's dodgy. I'm not entirely sure what he's done, but he's a bad egg. That's why she's not the best in social situations; she lacks a bit of tact at times, and she's _very_ outspoken. She didn't exactly have the most settled of childhoods, you see. And she used to get bullied at her first school because of him. Her mum left him in the end but once people in their neighbourhood knew about him, she couldn't escape it.

"Boarding school was a fresh start for her, a chance to make friends with people who didn't know about her dad. And then a few months later, one of the girls in her year, Rosalind, found out about him and spread it about. Maddie was ostracised by most of the year, but Lily stuck by her. So when she had the option of leaving school and going into the professional tennis circles, or staying at school for one more year, she decided to stay so that Lily wouldn't be left by herself. Maddie's her only schoolmate who knows about magic, you see, and Mads didn't want to leave her."

Carlotta said nothing for a moment.

"That ... that's a pretty big sacrifice..."

"If you want loyalty, you don't need to look much further than Maddie," I agreed.

The girls won their match – and went on to win their semi-final and the final to boot. Maddie's family, who supported her as much as my family did me, got to them first and all gave Maddie massive hugs – and Lily to boot.

"Thanks, Mama Benny," Lily said with an exhausted grin as Mrs Bennett greeted her with a hug, a kiss and a bottle of water. "Got a fresh pair of legs as well?"

She turned to us as Mrs Bennett moved back to Maddie.

"How was that?" she said, still beaming widely.

"Fantastic! Well done, darling." Dad pulled her into a huge hug.

I caught sight of the expression on Dad's face – one of pride and admiration – and couldn't fight back the feeling of resentment that her achievements seemed to make him happier than mine ever had.

* * *

><p>"That was really fun!" Carlotta said, when we got back to my flat.<p>

"It was okay." I shrugged my shoulders indifferently.

"Didn't you enjoy it?" she said with a frown.

"I've watched her doing a lot of sporty stuff, it's all the same in the end."

"But she won! They won! Aren't you happy for her?"

"It's nothing new; they nearly always win," I said in the same flat tone. "You seemed to get on well with Dad," I added. She'd sat next to him for much of the day, and at times, they'd seemed deep in conversation.

It was her turn to shrug.

"He's lovely," she said. "Really friendly. I don't get why it surprises you..." She paused. "You really don't get on with him, do you?"

"We just don't see eye to eye," I said tensely.

I didn't elaborate. I didn't want to talk about it.


	20. twenty

The next fortnight was ridiculously Quidditch-orientated, even for me. I'd planned to have a week off after our third match of the season against the Magpies, but at the beginning of the week's training for it, Brigid told me otherwise.

"England want you in training next week for their qualifier against Transylvania."

I groaned loudly.

"You're joking," I moaned. "They won't play me, not against _Transylvania_. If we lose, we might not make the World Cup proper – and that Friday is my Granddad's birthday! I can't miss that; I haven't not missed it once-"

"I've already mentioned that to management," she interrupted me smoothly. "It's fine, they'll let you have an extra hour in the morning for it. I don't think you _will_ be played, but they want another look at you. I think you have a good chance of making the main squad for the Cup; otherwise they wouldn't have called you up again. They haven't called up the full twenty-one person training squad, you know. This is directed solely towards beating Transylvania, so the fact that they still want you ... it's big. It's _good_."

"But I'll only get a week off," I complained.

"You've only played one match so far! Stop moaning, Potter. This is _England_! You don't know when you've got it good, do you?" She shook her head, looking amused. "You'll enjoy it, you _know_ you will. And besides, another week's training will only do you good. It'll keep you out of the Hinky, for one thing. Although you seem to have a new favourite hangout, don't you?" She raised an eyebrow.

"I've not been to the Tav in weeks _either_, you know that-"

"But you were going there more frequently than the Hinky even in pre-season. Let me guess, it's _clearly_ that favourable currency exchange rate that keeps you going there, right?"

"I generally get my drinks there on the house; exchange rates don't come into it," I grinned.

She shook her head incredulously.

"You wrap everyone around your little finger, don't you? You jammy little bastard, you..."

The news that I was losing one of my weeks off was softened slightly when I realised that Ryan would be training with Ireland that week, and Della and Klaus were heading back to Germany for their own training camp. With two of my protagonists also out of action, the blow wasn't so harsh.

I was back in the team for our home match against the Magpies. They were one of two Scottish teams in the League, and while they were weaker than their Pride of Portree compatriots, they were still a fairly strong team, and we knew that we couldn't let our guard down. Klaus was also back in the team, partly to give Stefan a break after his marathon effort against the Arrows. Alfie, however, was sitting this match out, which meant that Sophie would get a rare outing in front of the hoops, and that Della was captain, which she was very excited about. She, Ryan, Cato and Cleo were all denied a break, as Germany, Ireland and England respectively wanted them to have as much match practice as possible before the important qualification matches.

Carlotta seemed disappointed to learn that I wouldn't have one of my anticipated weeks off, and doubly so when she learned that I was unlikely to play for England anyway. Her work hours, coupled with my strict training regime, meant that we hadn't actually seen each other much since the season had started. I was more used to this than she was, and admittedly she didn't seem too cut up about the situation, but I could tell that she had been working on the basis that I'd have much more freedom once this third game was out of the way, and now that wasn't going to be the case.

"You can still watch the England match," I pointed out to her when she once again visited me during her work break, mid-week.

"I know, but it won't be as interesting if you're not in it," she said. "Besides, it's against – _who_ was it you said? Transylvania? That's not even a _country_..."

"Of course it is," I said, giving her a bewildered look. "Why would you think it's not?"

"It's not a country in _our_ world. It's a part of Romania..."

I shook my head.

"You guys have odd country boundaries. Apparently Assyria's not a Muggle country either..."

It was her turn to look bewildered.

"_Assyria_? Of course it's not, it was a kingdom that existed thousands of years ago..." She let out a heavy sigh. "I give up. Anyway, back to the Quidditch, surely you'll beat 'Transylvania' easily?" She formed quote marks in the air with her fingers as she referred to the disputed country.

"They're ranked ninth in the world at the moment, and we're fifth, but-"

"_Ninth_?" She looked confused once more. "_Really_?"

"Yeah, why shouldn't they be? They're good. We were awful for years, and they've knocked us out of a fair few World Cups before. We need to win this, because if we don't make our home World Cup, it'll be humiliating. So we'll be putting out our strongest team, and I'm certainly not part of _that_. I've never even played a game for England before; it's big enough that I'm in the _squad_."

"They _might_ play you," she reasoned.

"They won't, unless there's an injury. It'll be a bit frustrating, but if it gives me a chance of getting into the World Cup squad, it'll be worth it."

I reminded myself of that fact throughout the next two weeks, every time I got grouchy when thinking about my lost week. When it came down to it, Brigid was right; this was good, given thatnd that I wanted to achieve that goal of making the World Cup squad. Before the start of the season, it had been little more than a fleeting dream; now, with a week of training with England under my belt and another to come, it seemed attainable, but I knew that it would take a lot of hard work.

Hard work which started with the match against the Magpies. Their biggest threats were Chasers Cameron Maddock and Isla Watkins, both Scotland players who gelled incredibly well with each other. At times, it almost seemed as though they could read each other's minds – though this might have been down to the fact that they'd been dating for years.

"See?" I muttered to Ryan on the morning of the match. "It _is_ possible to play for the same team..."

But the look on his face soon shut me up.

We won the match, although it was a tough challenge for us Chasers. But we came through it, and Sinead's relief was clear to see. Her method was to approach the season one block of matches at a time, the blocks of course being split by our weeks off. Normally the season consisted of eight blocks, so three matches barely made a dent into the season, but with the fixtures chopped we were already a quarter of the way into the season, and so there was no room for error if we wanted to win the League this season. We still weren't top of the standings – Puddlemere and the Kestrels were still ahead of us, having played weaker teams such as the Cannons, who we wouldn't play until later in the season. Nevertheless, we were certainly still in touch, which was a good situation for us to be in with the Tornados already beaten.

Our next match was against Puddlemere themselves. But that was three weeks away, and wasn't at the forefront of any of our minds. Several of us had international training camps before that, and Ryan's attention – and indeed mine too – was also redirected by Cato's plan to take Brigid out to dinner the week after the Transylvania game.

We had slightly differing reactions. My concern was how Freddie would react if he found out, which he undoubtedly would sooner or later. Ryan wasn't at all fussed about this; while I cared for them both equally, he was only concerned for his sister's happiness. Despite this difference of opinion, we still took it upon ourselves to make it very clear to Cato what the consequences would be if he were to upset her in any way.

Not that I would have done this by myself. I cared for Brigid, but I also cared about keeping my nose intact, and Cato was much bigger than me. Ryan, however, would be less easy for him to flatten if he got angry.

"Don't be ridiculous, Jimmy; he's as laid back as anything!" Della laughed when I hinted this to her.

"Not when I'm talking to Cleo, he's not."

"That's because you don't just talk to her, you _flirt_ with her. And do I need to remind you that you're just as bad where Lily's concerned? And Brigid, come to that, as you've just proved. She'll be fine, she can look after herself. And he's a decent guy, he'll treat her right. I would, if I were him and I had Ryan's wrath to worry about."

I frowned.

"Are you trying to say he's more threatening than I am?"

"Darling, if you went up against Cato, he'd flatten you," she said sympathetically.

* * *

><p>My week's training with England passed much as expected. Demelza involved me in drills with the three incumbent English Chasers, which I hadn't had a chance to do in the larger training camp. I was happy with my performances, and felt that I wasn't that far behind them.<p>

Nevertheless, I still wasn't included when the team to play Transylvania was announced midweek, not even as reserve. I wasn't surprised, but it was a disappointment regardless, as I would have loved to play.

It did, however, give me more time on Thursday afternoon to buy birthday presents, as the players who hadn't been picked were allowed to leave an hour earlier than the matchday squad. It also made missing the beginning of Friday's training less of an issue.

Granddad was always easy to buy for. The latest Wheezes products tended to suffice, and so Uncle George's shop was my first port of call. That was followed by a visit to the florist to buy some white lilies, which were standard by now.

This time round, I got to Mum and Dad's before Al or Lily, and Mum's shock at this was unmistakeable. We had a little chat about the training camp, which Lily joined in with when she arrived and which Al's arrival ended.

The birthday visit to Granddad Potter's grave was just as short and sombre as the visit for Grandma Potter's. These visits always were.

Mum and Dad had never tried to hide their past from us. In fact, before I went to Hogwarts they made a conscious effort to make sure we all knew and understood their roles in recent wizarding history – Dad's in particular. They'd wanted to make sure that we weren't caught out by people trying to befriend us for our surname. Therefore I knew all about my grandparents' sacrifices. It was a sobering, heartbreaking thought, that by the time they were my age they had married, had a child – and died.

I couldn't say that I missed them. How could you miss someone you'd never met? But every time that any of my cousins spent time with their other grandparents, it hit me that I didn't have that option, save sitting in front of a patch of ground with a tombstone sticking out of it.

I often wondered what they'd been like. And I frequently wondered if they would be proud of me.

* * *

><p>That England won the qualifying match against Transylvania wasn't a shock. What <em>was<em> surprising was the nature – and the margin – of the win. Mum summed it up best in her article in the _Prophet _the next day:

_This result won't send shockwaves through the Quidditch world. But it will send a warning to the likes of Bulgaria, Uruguay, Peru and Ireland: England have finally arrived on the international scene. And they mean business._


	21. twenty-one

"My parents want to meet you, you know."

I stared at Carlotta horrifically.

"_What_?"

She shrugged.

"They take a passing interest in my life from time to time, you know. And Flick – my housemate – has mentioned you to them."

"But-"

"Oh, don't worry, they know it's nothing serious," she added. "But they're nosy. _Really_ nosy."

We were playing wizard's chess. _Wizard's chess_. Of all the things we could be doing on a Monday evening, playing bloody chess certainly wouldn't be in my top ten. But Carlotta had some ridiculous fascination with the pieces, so I had no choice. Most irritatingly, they seemed to like her more than they did me.

"I've met your entire family," she pointed out. "Turnabout is fair play, I'd say. And besides, you're getting off scot-free here; most of my extended family live in Spain. You've only got my parents to worry about. Oh, and my brother and sister, of course, but they're harmless."

I was still gazing at her in shock, only half-aware that the black rook was getting irritated with its position on the board and loudly conveying its eagerness to move.

"Your family..."

"My family," she confirmed. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll survive the ordeal. You're free on Saturday, right? They're coming for lunch, you can join us."

"I-"

"Marvellous," she beamed. "Oh, and by the way, I've told them you play football, so you might want to brush up on your sporting knowledge there. They're not massive fans but they might notice if you know absolutely nothing about the sport you play." She shot me a cheeky wink. "Your rook looks like it's about to spontaneously combust, by the way."

My retort – and indeed my next chess move – was interrupted by Albus falling out of the hearth onto my rug. He brushed the ashes off himself and looked around the room, an intriguing combination of shock and anger on his face. Then his eyes fell on me and a look of mild surprise crossed his face.

"What on earth's up with you?" I asked, confused.

"Scorpius Malfoy, that's what's up!" he exploded.

_Ah_.

"She's been seeing him! _Rose_ has been seeing Scorpius Malfoy! Behind our backs! _Scorpius Malfoy_!"

I suppressed a groan.

"I can't believe this." He began pacing up and down the room. "Malfoy! I thought better of her than this! And she wasn't even ashamed when I caught them!"

"Whoa – you didn't walk in on them-"

"No, they weren't doing anything. They were _watching television_, would you believe? Scorpius Malfoy, watching television!" He let out a short, slightly hysterical laugh. "I can't believe this!"

I had to hide a smirk. Despite the seriousness of the situation, I couldn't help finding it amusing – Rose's worry about his reaction had been entirely well-founded.

"I'm missing the issue here," I said. "So she's seeing him. What's so wrong with that?"

He stared at me as though I'd just told him that I was retiring from Quidditch.

"What's wrong with it? _What's wrong_ – he's a _Malfoy_, James! Look at where he comes from! Who his parents are! His dad _hates_ ours, and Rose's – he was a Death Eater! I – his _granddad_! His granddad did horrendous things! He killed Muggles! He was-"

"His grandmother saved Dad's life," I reminded him quietly.

"I – only to save her own stinking skin! That doesn't redeem what they've done-"

"Al, do you think you're like Dad?"

"I – what?"

"Do you think you're like Dad?"

If he'd been calmer, he'd have noticed the trap. As it was, he was too worked up, and he walked right into it.

"Well, in some ways, I guess, but I'm not _completely_ like him-"

"Do you like it when people compare you to him?"

"Of course not! I'm my own person, I'm not _him_-"

"Don't you think Scorpius would say the same thing about _his_ dad?"

He said nothing, but just stared at me, stunned.

"Of course you're not Dad. Neither am I. And of course you don't like being compared to him and what he's done. Who would? Don't you think it's the same for Malfoy? In fact, he has it far worse than we do. At least our name isn't tainted, at least there's a good association with the name Potter. He – and the whole family – have to live with a bad reputation. His dad and granddad have shown they've changed their ways; they're not like that any longer. I know it doesn't change what they've done, but they can't take it back. All they can do is try to change people's minds, and hope they'll be recognised for something _other_ than their sins. If we continue to judge them for the mistakes they've made, how can we move on from what's happened? And to judge Scorpius, who hasn't done anything, for what his dad and grandparents did before he was born ... look, that's harsh, Al. I don't mean to lecture you, because I'm really not that type of person – and I really don't like how preachy this is getting – but so long as Rosie's happy, surely that's all that matters?"

It took him a while to find words.

"But ... he teased me, James! He teased me at school about my name-"

"Someone with the name Scorpius Hyperion really can't take the piss out of someone else's name, ridiculous as yours is. We said this at the time. And he soon stopped, didn't he? You were both eleven, and we're all idiots at eleven."

He was clinging at straws, I could tell. And I wasn't going to let him.

"Tell me you didn't yell at her, Al..."

He looked sheepish.

"Well ... I was angry! I got back to find her cosying up to a Mal – a complete jackass! What do you expect?" He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Do you, er ... do you think I should maybe apologise to her?"

"It might be an idea," I suggested. "What did you say to _him_?"

"I didn't have the chance to get much out before he left," Al confessed. "I, er ... I think he got the gist, though." He shifted on his feet slightly. "Do you reckon she'll have calmed down yet?"

I snorted.

"This is Rose we're talking about. She'll be mad for days. The longer you leave it, the more imaginative her spells will be when you try to approach her. You're best catching her now, when _Langlock_ is her best weapon."

He winced at the thought.

"Good luck," I added with a cheeky grin, just before he Disapparated, looking anxious.

I turned back to Carlotta and our neglected chess game. My grin faltered as I saw the look on her face.

"What did he mean about killing Muggles?"

I frowned, and the smile slid from my face.

"What?"

"Al was talking about someone, he said he killed Muggles. What did he mean?"

I felt my stomach contract as I recalled his comment.

"I – it's nothing, really-"

"Al didn't seem to think it was nothing," she said coolly. "James, if you've been keeping something from me-"

"I've not been keeping anything from you!" I cried.

"Well then, you can tell me what Albus was talking about," she said firmly, folding her arms.

I sighed heavily, and ran my hands through my hair.

"Look, this was nearly thirty years ago, it's not relevant-"

"In which case there's no point in hiding it from me."

I took a deep breath, and silently cursed Al for the trouble he'd gotten me into.

"Okay. So there was this wizard..." I paused, realising that I'd have to start further back than that. "There ... there used to be this prejudice. In recent years it's diminished; it's really frowned upon to make these thoughts public now. But it used to be more of an issue. There were some people who thought that having magic made them _better_ than people who didn't. They were generally purebloods – that's what we call people whose families are completely magical. Mum's family is a pureblood family, though they've never shared that opinion. You get different types of witch and wizard, you see. Some magical people come from two Muggle parents. Nobody knows how it happens; it's as mystifying as Squibs like Lily existing. My Aunt Hermione is a Muggleborn. People who are a mixture are half-bloods. Dad's a half-blood; his dad's family was a pureblood family but his mum was a Muggleborn, so Dad's a half-blood, and so am I.

"People don't tend to give a damn about this any more, because most people don't care what blood you have. But it used to be an issue, because some people used to discriminate against Muggles, and wizarding people who had Muggle blood or associated with them like Mum's family. There was one wizard who ... well, he went bad. He started gaining power – this was about seventy years ago now. He gathered followers, and when he was strong enough, he stepped his campaign up. At first, it was just Muggles, and then it was Muggle-borns too, and then anyone who had Muggle sympathies. He was sort of defeated, when Dad was one, but then he came back, when Dad was fifteen. He was defeated for good a few years later, and his followers were all dealt with too. So ... it's all okay now. It's not an issue any more."

She didn't look impressed.

"And this guy ... your cousin's fellow..."

"His Dad and grandparents used to have those views too. They were quite ... involved. But they redeemed themselves, that's the point. They're not like that any more. And to judge Scorpius for it is unfair."

She didn't seem appeased.

"So, your kind used to kill my kind."

I winced.

"Well, when you put it like that..."

"It's the truth, though, isn't it?"

"No, it's not! Because not all witches and wizards thought that! My family fought _against_ him, they risked their lives doing it! It's a ridiculous notion, that having magic makes you superior-"

"_Fought_? What, was this a _war_ or something?"

"Yeah – didn't I say that? People didn't just let this guy get away with killing Muggles. They tried to stop him and his followers. And _he_ wasn't going to take that lying down, so he waged war against anyone who got in his way. And so ... and so they fought. And ... and people died. So ... that's what Al's problem is. He can't see past what Malfoy's family have done."

It looked as though she was struggling to comprehend what I'd told her.

"What I don't get," she said slowly, "is why you didn't tell me this in the first place. This ... this is _relevant_, James! I'm one of these Muggles, and if I'm going to mingle with magical people, then I need to know these things, don't you think?"

"No, because it's not relevant any more! These prejudices don't exist any more, people don't discriminate against Muggles, they don't bat an eyelid at non-magical people, because it _doesn't matter_!"

"It does, though! It still happened! Did you think you could just get away with not telling me?"

"Well ... there was never an appropriate moment! Was I supposed to bring it up when I was first explaining magic to you? Levitating a glass of water scared you! It was hardly the right moment to explain how some elitist idiots used to persecute Muggles. And then ... it's not exactly the kind of conversation you have over a drink, is it?"

"I just..." She chewed her lip. "I don't like that you've kept something from me, that's all."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, it's just ... I guess I don't want you to feel as though you can't be around us, that's all..."

Her expression softened, but she still didn't look totally appeased.

"Your mum's brother ... the one who you said died in an explosion ... it wasn't an explosion, was it?"

"It _was_," I said tentatively. "Part of a building exploded..."

"But it was a magical explosion?"

"It was in the last battle. This dark wizard died a few hours later..."

She closed her eyes, and buried her head in slightly trembling hands. She remained in that position for a few minutes, and I didn't dare say anything else.

Finally, she raised her head.

"Is there anything else you haven't told me?"

I thought about my grandparents, dead at twenty-one. I thought of my other namesake, Dad's godfather, who was wrongly imprisoned for twelve years and then killed in action. I thought of Teddy, whose parents had been killed when he was only months old. I thought of Mum, possessed by Voldemort at the age of twelve; of Uncle Bill, scarred by a werewolf; of Grandpa Weasley, attacked by a venomous snake; of Albus, and the men _he_ was named after; of Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, who spent nearly a year on the run. I thought of Dad, and the prophecy, and the Horcruxes-

"No," I said firmly. "There's nothing else."

* * *

><p>Later that week, I found myself back inside Lily's wardrobe.<p>

I peered through the keyhole and saw she wasn't in her room, but Maddie was sitting at her desk. I rapped sharply on the inside of the wardrobe door and waited for her trademark response.

"Come out!" she said with a grin. She sat up and spun round to face the wardrobe as I pushed the door open.

"You're far too easily amused," I said dryly.

She shrugged.

"Got to get my kicks from somewhere. You here for Lily?"

"No, I was hoping to chat to Kit, actually."

"Kit?" She looked at me, bewildered. "What on _earth_ do you need Kit for?"

"Just need to ask him a question."

"And I won't do?"

She sounded hurt but her sustained grin said otherwise. Maddie had a thick skin; she didn't get upset easily.

"You're lucky; he's here at the moment."

"Whereabouts? With Lily, I'm guessing?"

"Look out the window." She nodded towards it, then turned back to her desk.

I crossed to the window and, looking out of it, saw four figures on one of the nearby tennis courts.

"Why aren't you out there with them?"

"I thought you knew about tennis, James? You can't play with uneven numbers."

"You know what I mean!"

"Work." She gestured towards the books in front of her. "I've fallen behind in the past few weeks, what with all the hockey going on. Lily needed a break from her work though, she's barely had any leisure time recently. She works herself to the bone, you know. It's admirable but she needs some down time every now and again. So I told Kit to get his ass here, and I kicked her out to have a knock up with him."

"But Lottie and Robbie are here too..."

"Yeah, that wasn't in the script. They just rocked up. They're never ones to turn down a game of tennis, so they joined in."

"Has Lily gotten better?" I asked as I watched her. I wasn't massively clued up about tennis, and quite frankly the scoring baffled me, but I did know that Lottie and Robbie were really good. The whole family seemed to be sickeningly good at all sports. If Maddie could fly then I wouldn't bet against her being stupidly good at Quidditch too. But Lily seemed to be holding her own – in fact, she seemed to be bettering them.

"She's been practicing a lot. Looking good, isn't she? She wants to make the team this summer, and there are some good players coming up. And of course, she wants to be better than Rosalind." She slammed her textbook shut. "Right, that's me done. Bugger off outside for a minute. I need to change into my tennis gear."

I stared at her in horror.

"Are you kidding? Rosalind's out there! You're throwing me to the dogs!"

"Well, you'll just have to cross your fingers that she doesn't leave her room then, won't you?" She grinned evilly, and shoved me out into the corridor.

It was a nervy couple of minutes' wait. Last time I'd come across Rosalind, she'd practically proposed marriage. It hadn't been an enjoyable moment and I really didn't fancy reliving it. Luckily Maddie didn't take long to change, and thankfully nobody passed as I was waiting for her. She emerged from her room in her tennis dress, and one of my old Weasley jumpers over the top, and led me down the stairs to the court where the others were playing.

Kit looked relieved when we approached them.

"Thank god, now I can sit out," he said, leaving the court.

"I'm not contagious, you know!" Lily told him, as she approached me to give me a hug. "What are you doing here? I wasn't expecting a visit."

"Do I need an excuse to see my favourite sister?" I raised an eyebrow, and hugged her back.

"You only visit if you want something these days, it seems." She sounded affronted and made as if to hit me round the head with her tennis racket.

"Do you want to join in, James?" Lottie called from the other side of the net. "Kit can carry on; we could play three against three?"

"Na, I'm fine watching. I don't play tennis," I replied.

I headed back to where Kit had settled himself down at the side of the court.

"Are we carrying on, or starting from scratch?" Maddie asked from her stance on the same side of the net as Lily.

"Hang on, this isn't fair! You two are better than we are!" Lottie cried indignantly.

"Fine. Robbie, swap." Maddie walked round the net to the other side, and Robbie followed the orders and joined Lily. "There, does that even things up a bit for you? Except you really didn't think this through, because now, instead of being against two girls, you have to face Robbie, and you know what his serve is like. Actually, this probably hasn't evened things out for _you_ at all-"

"Do I have to draw straws?" Kit called across to them in amusement.

"Oh, shush, Atkinson." Maddie scowled, and hit a ball in our direction. He yelped, and dodged it. "_You_ can keep score."

Kit turned to me as Maddie served to begin the match.

"Is this just a fleeting visit, then?"

"I was hoping to chat to you, actually," I replied.

He looked slightly confused. We'd always been friendly towards each other – aside from the period when he'd been hesitant to accept that Lily was from a magical family – but I'd never sought him out to speak to him before. For that matter, I'd never really needed to talk to Maddie either.

"About Lily?"

"No, it's not about her."

He looked bemused.

"Well ... is it guy stuff, then? I thought you went to Freddie with all of that..."

"Well, normally I do, but he doesn't have the expertise that you do."

The bemused expression deepened.

"I need you to teach me about football."

A look of comprehension replaced the confusion.

"Ah. Something to do with Carlotta?"

"She's having me meet her parents," I said darkly.

The bemusement reappeared.

"_Meet her parents_? That sounds ... serious..."

"It's not. She wants to get her own back for me throwing her at my entire family. Even though _she_ was the one who wanted to see the Quidditch..."

He let out a laugh.

"She has got a point there. But why do you need to know about football?"

"She's told her parents that I play football for a living. That's what I told her when we first met. But I haven't the slightest clue about it, aside from the fact that you kick a ball into a net, and I don't know if that will hold up. I'm not sure how knowledgeable her family are."

He pulled a face.

"I don't know if I'm the ideal person to help you here. Football's not really my thing; I'm more of a rugby person. Robbie might be able to help you more..."

"I can hardly ask _him_ to teach me about football, can I? What would that seem like to him? From what I've gathered, nearly every Muggle bloke knows _something_ about football."

"Well, yes, that might seem a bit odd," he conceded. "Okay, I'll see what I can do. I'd say that you really need to know about the offside rule, that's always a talking point..."

We were chatting for about twenty minutes before the others realised that Kit wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to scoring their game.

"Christopher!" Maddie said indignantly.

"Madeleine!"

"You're meant to be scoring!"

"I'm entertaining our guest," he retorted, gesturing towards me.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"It's a good thing I've been keeping score, then; Lottie and I are two breaks up-"

"I don't think so!" Robbie butted in. "_I've_ been keeping score, and _we've_ broken _you_!"

"No-" Lottie began.

"Alright, kids, break it up!" Kit called over to them. "I'll start keeping score, you guys just play. Bloody siblings," he muttered under his breath as they got back to playing. "They're _ridiculously_ competitive, those three. They're a bad influence on Lily-"

I snorted.

"Are you kidding me? You didn't grow up with her. Trust me, she's already far too competitive for her own good, without needing their input. They probably all encourage each other."

"Think yourself lucky you don't have to spend all day, every day with them."

"No, I'm sure a squad of professional Quidditch players can't possibly be as overbearingly competitive as those two."

He grinned.

"Touché."

We fell silent, and watched them play.

I mainly watched Lily, simply revelling in the fact she was enjoying herself so much. I _did_ worry about her sometimes, though less now than I had back when we'd first found out that she was a Squib. She'd adapted ridiculously well right from the start, and truthfully all I worried about now was that she was doing too much. We all seemed to worry about that, but she wasn't going to lighten her workload, especially not now she was so close to completing her studies, both Muggle and wizarding. It was definitely a relief to see her happily occupied away from her desk. Maddie was right; she did need breaks from her swotting.

During my school years, I'd spent a lot of time with Lily in the summers. It was a near guarantee that I'd bump into all of my cousins practically every day at Hogwarts. It was odd if I _didn't_ see them, as we all shared the same common room. But my only opportunities to see Lily were during the holidays, so Albus and I spent most of our time with her when we could, and by now I was ridiculously well-versed in interpreting her body language. It was mostly her sad moods I picked up on, because I'd always been on the lookout for those, worried at first that she wouldn't enjoy life at a Muggle school. Of course, I'd soon realised that this worry was ill-founded; it hadn't taken her long to become completely happy in the Muggle world.

But my experience meant I noticed her smile seemed that little bit wider now, her laugh that little bit louder, when she was talking to her tennis partner.

"Hey, Kit," I murmured, "am I over-thinking things here, or does Lily have a thing for Robbie?"

He glanced at me, still trying to keep half an eye on their game.

"You've finally caught on, have you?"

"_Finally_?"

"Yeah, I first noticed it a year or so ago. She's not obvious with it, but when you're around her that much, you pick it up."

I nodded in agreement.

"But – a _year_? Well – have you talked to her about it?"

"Nope. I figured if she wants to talk, she'll come to me about it. I'm not going to push her to say anything."

Maddie was the ideal friend for Lily in many ways. But one thing she _wasn't_ was an emotional soundboard, someone for Lily to talk to about things. That was where Kit came in. From what I'd gathered, she went to him about nearly everything, so it surprised me that she hadn't talked to him about this. It wasn't so surprising he hadn't raised the point; he wasn't the type to intervene unless he thought he had to.. Clearly, here he didn't deem it necessary. But-

"A year, and she's not done anything about it?"

He shrugged.

"I wonder if it's because he's Maddie's brother, and she's worried about what Mads will think."

"Does Maddie not know?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"Of course not, she's utterly obtuse when it comes to this kind of thing," he said. "She keeps nagging Lily to ask him to be her prom date, too, which can't help things-"

"She's not asked him yet? But they were talking about this two months ago-"

He shrugged again.

"Beats me. I think she's too scared to, personally. Scared of rejection. I don't see why he'd say no, though; I mean, he clearly likes her well enough as a mate. Or maybe she doesn't want him to take her if it's only going to be as friends? I don't know, I don't like to dwell too hard on how girls' minds work. I just watch from afar, keep an eye on her, make sure she's okay. And at the moment, she seems fine. She's a strong girl."

I nodded in agreement. My eyes were still on her.

"She's lucky to have you as a friend, you know," I said.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him pulling a face. I knew that he hadn't forgiven himself for how he'd reacted when she'd told him about magic. She'd forgiven him entirely, and had put the matter out of her mind, but I could tell he felt he'd let her down, especially when Maddie had accepted it so easily and his own parents had known for years. It was part of the reason he tried so hard now to be there for her; he felt as though he owed it to her, to make up for letting her down.

We fell silent again, watching the game, but it didn't last for much longer.

"Do you guys mind if I sit out?" Lottie said, at a convenient break. "I'm getting a bit knackered."

"Oh, same," Lily said. She looked slightly relieved, as though she'd been waiting for someone else to agree with her.

Maddie looked across the net at Robbie.

"Singles?" she suggested.

He nodded in agreement.

Lily and Lottie joined us at the side of the court, Lily throwing herself onto the ground in exhaustion.

"I am _shattered_," she groaned.

"You're unfit," Kit teased.

"Sod off," she growled.

Kit and Lottie headed off to beg food from his mother, allowing me and Lily to chat more openly, which I appreciated – for about five seconds.

"How are things going with Carlotta, then?" she asked.

I pulled a face and wished Kit and Lottie hadn't left.

"Not so rosy."

She frowned.

"What have you done?"

"Albus ... I don't know if I should be telling you this, because Rose swore me to secrecy-"

"Have you found out about her and Scorpius?"

I blinked at her in surprise.

"You knew?"

"Course I did. She told me when she first started seeing him."

"And when was _that_?"

"Not long before Christmas. She told me not to tell you or Al. When did _you_ find out?"

"I visited her a couple of months ago – it was just after Carlotta found out about magic, actually; I was hoping she'd help me – and he was round. She told me not to tell Albus, said he might take it badly. Well, he found out the other day. Turned up in a stonking rage, moaning because Scorpius' granddad used to kill Muggles-"

"Oh, what an idiot," she groaned, rolling her eyes. "I _knew_ he'd be like this. He shouldn't judge Scorpius for what his family did-"

"Yeah, I know that, and I told him as much. Unfortunately, he picked a time Carlotta was around for his routine 'The Malfoy family persecuted Muggles' rant."

She groaned again.

"I told you that you should have told her earlier! It's not as though you could avoid the subject topic forever-"

"I _know_, and I wasn't trying to avoid it! It's just ... there was never a convenient moment to tell her that some of our kind used to persecute hers, you know? And then Albus decided to go off on one again..."

"Enough about Al. What did _she_ say?"

"Well ... she wasn't best pleased. But I think I managed the situation well..."

"I'm not sure I trust your judgement on that," she said dryly.

"Well, I told her that our family fought against Voldemort, and that this all happened before we were born and that people didn't persecute Muggles these days, and she seemed pacified..."

"You told her everything she needs to know?"

"Yeah. I told her everything she needs to know."

She looked satisfied. I wondered whether to bring up the situation with her and Robbie, but then Maddie threw herself down onto the ground next to us, looking as though she'd barely broken into a sweat, and effectively decided the issue for me.

"Where are the others?" Robbie asked, standing over us.

"Gone to beg Mrs A for some food," Lily said lazily.

"That sounds like a good idea." He grinned, and headed off to find them.

"Bring us something back, Robbo!" Maddie called after him.

"Oh!" I said, suddenly remembering. "You'll never believe this. Cato's taking _Brie_ out on a date on Saturday."

"Really? How does Freddie feel about that?" Lily asked.

"I don't think he knows yet. And _I'm_ not going to be the person to tell him."

"I wouldn't think that Brigid was his type," Maddie said, an unreadable expression on her face.

"Why not?" I frowned.

"Well, she seems a bit ... uptight..."

"Only because Freddie's been an idiot," Lily chipped in. "I think it's a good thing! She's finally moving on from Freddie, and she deserves to have a bit of fun. She probably won't end up with Cato forever, but there's no reason why she can't go on one date with him."

"So long as he doesn't mess her about," I said in my most threatening voice.

Lily laughed.

"What are you going to do, throw your pygmy puff at him?"

I elbowed her, and she squirmed, squealing.

"It sounds like someone's dying back here!"

Kit was heading towards us, with some bags of crisps.

"Come to save me, have you?" She grinned, and sat up.

"Don't flatter yourself," he replied, and threw one of the packets at her. She tutted as she caught it, and shook her head.

"_Honestly_, what kind of a friend are you?"

I found myself smiling, as I watched her interacting with Kit and Maddie.

She'd be fine. I knew she would be.

She always was.


	22. twenty-two

"Why am I doing this?" I muttered, adjusting my collar in the mirror.

"Because you're whipped," Freddie mumbled through a mouthful of eggs and bacon; he'd somehow managed to get Mum to cook him breakfast.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," she scolded, and smacked him round the head with a tea towel.

"I'm not _whipped_," I said indignantly.

"In that case the sex must be good."

"You have _no_ idea."

Mum tutted.

"And there was me thinking you'd learned not to objectify women..."

"I'm not _objectifying_ her! It's not as though she's under any illusions that this is going to turn into _marriage_, you know."

"You're meeting her parents. To you that may as well be marriage," Freddie said.

"Hey, this isn't anything serious. This is her getting her own back."

"I like her more and more every day." Mum smirked. "Just remember to be careful; we don't need another Statute breach. Rose told me what happened with Carlotta. You were very lucky, you know."

"I – she _told_ you?" I stared at her incredulously. "The cheeky little – I told her not to tell anyone!"

"You told her not to tell _Albus_," Mum corrected. "She only told me the other week, dear, it's fine."

"It is _not_ fine," I muttered, making a mental note to give Rose hell next time I saw her.

"Anyway, what's this I hear about Brigid having a date with Cato Bagman today?" Mum continued.

"The slimeball," muttered Freddie, who'd finally heard about the developments from Roxanne.

"Don't you like him?"

"All girls do is _gush_ about him."

"Well, he is _very_ good-looking. And he doesn't ask for it, you know. In fact, I think he finds it a bit daunting at times."

He didn't look convinced.

"He'd better not mess her around, or he'll be answering to me," he said in a menacing tone that really didn't suit him.

"It's alright, Freddo; me and Ryan have already laid the law down on that front," I reassured him. I was still trying to readjust my collar, which just wouldn't sit right.

"Shouldn't you be aiming for unity in the changing room?" Mum suggested.

I stared at her.

"We are! We're hardly going to achieve unity if Cato's messing about with Brie's heart, are we? This way, we're all on the same page. We're _fine_, Mum, really."

And we were. Truthfully, I didn't think Cato _would_ do a thing to hurt Brigid; I'd just wanted to make doubly sure of that fact. Despite all I said about him and my moans when women gushed about him, I actually thought him a genuinely nice guy. Mum was right; he was a gentle giant – when he wasn't trying to keep me away from his sister at any rate.

But I still didn't like the attention he got from girls.

"What time are you leaving?" Mum asked.

I glanced at my watch.

"About ten minutes," I said.

"Bit early for lunch, isn't it?" Freddie frowned.

"Just because _you're_ only eating breakfast at midday doesn't mean everybody else wastes away half the day." Mum smacked him again with the tea towel. It didn't hurt him, though. Mum wasn't one to cause her nieces and nephews pain, no matter how old they were. Besides, she had a soft spot for Freddie.

"I was out last night," he moaned, rubbing the back of his head even though it didn't hurt.

She rolled her eyes.

"Who with _this_ time?"

"Some Ravenclaw bird, year below us. Mandy or something-"

"Mindy," I said dully. "One of Allegra Fawcett's friends."

"Leggy Allegra was there too. Seen her round lately?"

"I've not really been out lately, have I?" I pointed out.

"Oh, yeah. Quidditch." He rolled his eyes. He didn't have a problem with me playing Quidditch – he liked the perks it gave him – but he missed me when I was training. He wouldn't freely admit it, but I could tell. He'd been one of the few people happy that the season had been chopped, because it meant I'd keep my breaks.

Although it had dampened his mood when Brigid pointed out that England used those breaks for their training and I'd probably be included in those.

To be perfectly honest, I felt his pain.

"Just be careful today," Mum reminded me again.

"I know!" I said indignantly. "I'll be fine. I've got this."

"You said that when you first starting shagging Carlotta," Freddie pointed out. I shot a glare at him, and he shied in his seat. "I'm just saying!"

"What kind of a mate are you?" I muttered.

"Hey! I helped you out that time we found her in the street!"

He had a point.

Mum looked at me oddly, as though concerned that Carlotta was more of a drunken mess than I was. To be fair, she had good reason to worry, as I didn't really have a good track record on that front. Astrid had been a raging alcoholic, and _that_ hadn't been a good period in my life. It was okay when I was drunk too, but she was always a bit of a problem at Quidditch matches. I'd finally dropped her when she'd started throwing the canapés around at a fancy function.

It had been half six.

And she'd caught the head of the Quidditch League in the face.

It had been a good shot, to be fair, and the coach of the Kestrels, who'd been standing next to him at the time, had been impressed. He hadn't been quite so impressed himself, although I figured that I'd probably have been just as irritated if I'd had caviar smeared all over my face.

I'd decided that I valued my Quidditch licence much more than Astrid, and shelved her. She hadn't been too happy at first, but from what I'd heard she'd hooked up with some Brazilian Quidditch player and moved to Rio with him, so evidently things hadn't ended that badly for her. In fact, given that she was living in a far more exotic place than I was, she seemed to have done better for herself than I had.

Not that I'd ever dream of leaving the Falcons, especially not for a club that meant leaving England, but Rio still sounded appealing. I made a mental note to suggest it to Ryan as a short-term option for us at the end of the World Cup, but thinking again, scratched that idea. Proximity to Astrid really wouldn't end well.

"Oh, just stop faffing and _go_, James," Mum sighed, as I readjusted my collar again. "I'll clean up for you." Not that she didn't always do this. "Just remember to be polite and _behave yourself_."

"Yes, Mum." I pulled a face, and headed for the kitchen door. Halfway there, I halted. "Wait – should I take a present? Flowers or something?"

"Is her mother allergic to flowers?"

"I have no idea."

"Best not to risk it, dear. Just be polite and offer to pay the bill; that always goes down well."

It sounded like a good option, especially as I knew Carlotta wouldn't let me foot the bill, not all of it anyway. Though I wondered if I _should_, given that she knew I wasn't short of cash, she wasn't the wealthiest of people. I had no idea how well off her parents were.

I headed out of my flat and round the corner to the Tav. I was quite relieved that we were eating there, as opposed to some fancy restaurant in the posh part of London, as hopefully it meant a more relaxed atmosphere. I _really_ didn't like meeting parents. I remembered the time Cassie Lynch forced me to go to dinner with her parents, and then hastily forced the memory from my mind. It wasn't a pleasant one.

The Tav was laid out as it had been the last time I'd been in during the day; all dining tables and chairs. It was a totally different atmosphere to how it was at night time, and I could see why Carlotta enjoyed working here; it was clear that she did a lot in the kitchens during the day.

I looked around for her, then noticed her getting up from a table near the back. I headed towards her, and we met half-way. She looked very pretty in a simple black dress.

"Thank god you're here," she breathed, greeting me with a kiss.

I grinned. "Trouble with the family?"

"As always." She rolled her eyes and looked me up and down. "Oh, my parents will love you."

"You seriously owe me for this one," I said in a low voice as she led me back to their table.

"Oh, don't you worry, I'll pay you back in full later," she said, squeezing my hand quickly. I had a sudden urge to grab it and just lead her out of the Tav and back to mine. Although Mum and Freddie were still there. Maybe I could endure this for a little while.

"Mamá, Dad, this is James," she said as we got to the table.

Her dad got up from the table and held out a hand to shake mine. He was tall, taller than I was, which was quite daunting. At least Aidan Lynch had been shorter than me.

"Nice to meet you, Mr Fortescue," I said politely, remembering Carlotta's instructions on how to address her parents. Damn Spanish names. Mr Fortescue's handshake was firm, and he looked slightly suspicious as he eyed me.

"Call me Oliver," he instructed me.

First name terms. _Phew_. That made things slightly easier.

"This is my wife, Evangelina," he added, gesturing towards the woman to his left.

I'd never thought it especially easy to identify Spanish people, but somehow Carlotta's mother was as obviously Spanish as it was possible to be. Of course, that may have been because I knew she was from Spain. Her skin was olive coloured and her eyes and hair were dark; Carlotta had clearly inherited her looks.

"Ms Martínez," I murmured, taking the hand that she extended and kissing it lightly. She didn't stand for me, or instruct me to call her something else. Behind her, I noticed Carlotta discreetly roll her eyes.

"This is my sister, Juanita," she added once her irritation with her mother faded, indicating the woman sitting next to her mother. She looked a few years older than Carlotta, but they were unmistakeably related.

Juanita laughed at the look on my face when Carlotta pronounced her name – there was no chance _I_ was going to be able to say that without making a fool out of myself or causing injury.

"Call me Nita," she volunteered. "Everyone else does. Nice to finally meet you." She looked me up and down and grinned slightly. "Carla was right, you _are_ a looker."

"Eyes off," Carlotta said sharply, though she was smiling too. "And this is my brother Antonio. We call him Toni for short."

Antonio seemed to have inherited a mixture of his parents' looks, although he was just as good-looking as his sisters. He seemed as enthusiastic as his mother about meeting me, giving me a curt nod.

"Take a seat, son." Mr Fortescue pulled out the chair next to him. "I've gotten you a pint in already. You're not driving, are you?"

I liked him already.

"Thanks." I sat down and took the pint of lager he slid towards me. I didn't drink it much but as it was a standard Muggle drink for men, I'd come across it a few times, and it was nice enough. "I'm not driving, no. I live just round the corner, so I walked."

"I've told you this already, Daddy," Carlotta spoke up, sitting down the other side of me. "Here, James, have a menu. The fish is nice, but I'd avoid the sausages if I were you. Bonnie's in charge of those dishes today, and she just _doesn't_ cook them right-"

"You only think that because you cook those dishes when you work," Antonio cut in, grinning slightly.

"Yes, and? I cook them better, I know that for a fact. She doesn't let the skins get crispy enough and really, who wants soggy, chewy sausage skins?"

"Carla, you let them go black. You _burn_ them-"

"It's not burnt, it's well done," she retorted. "There's a difference."

Given that my mother rarely served up sausages that were any lighter than jet black, I had to agree with Carlotta. I didn't voice this opinion, though, deciding to stay quiet at least for the moment.

"What about the steak and kidney pie?" Juanita chipped in. "Will that be good today?"

"Yeah, you'll be pretty safe with that."

"Make that two," Mr Fortescue said, throwing his own menu down onto the middle of the table. "I expect it won't be as nice as yours, Carly, but we'll give it a go."

"Fish and chips," Antonio grunted, following suit.

"Mamá?"

Ms Martínez was still perusing her own menu. She didn't look particularly appeased by any of the options. I wondered if she liked eating here at all.

"They have taken the paella off the menu," she sighed. She had a strong Spanish accent, though her pronunciation was good; clearly, like my Aunt Fleur, she had spent enough time in Britain for her accent to soften.

"I told you, Mamá, there wasn't enough demand for it," Carlotta replied apologetically. "They do noodles, though, you like those. Or you could have a curry?"

"I will have a toasted sandwich," she announced, not sounding very enthusiastic about the idea.

"Cheese and ham?"

"Yes, yes, that is fine." She glanced at her wine glass. "And another glass of wine."

"Get a bottle, petal," Mr Fortescue added as Carlotta stood up. "You and Nita can have a glass."

I winced, _really_ hoping they weren't expecting me to pay.

Carlotta trailed a hand across my shoulder as she headed off to order food at the bar. I felt a shiver down my spine at her touch. I took a large swig of lager, as though the more I drank, the faster the afternoon would go.

To be fair, it would probably make it more bearable, although I doubted Carlotta's mother would approve.

Then again, I wasn't sure that she would approve of anything this afternoon.

"So, James, Carlotta says you play football," Mr Fortescue said, turning to face me.

_Bugger_. I'd been hoping that this topic of conversation wouldn't come up too early, and especially not while Carlotta wasn't around.

"Er, yeah, just lower leagues though, nothing big."

"Ah, right." He didn't sound convinced. "So, is this a secure thing? Or is it just something to pass the time?"

I was having second thoughts about him.

"Well, I guess it's secure enough," I shrugged.

"Aren't the lower leagues only semi-professional, though?"

I hesitated. Kit hadn't covered this bit.

"I could get picked up by a pro team..." I said.

"It's a competitive business, son, don't get your hopes up too much. Best to have other options, if you know what I mean."

I fought back the urge to tell him that I was one of the best-paid players in my league and that I was being courted by England. I didn't think they'd believe me, and telling them about Quidditch certainly wasn't a good idea.

Ms Martínez tutted.

"Really, Oliver, surely it is good to have ambitions? Surely that is better than settling for less?"

This surprised me, but then I remembered Carlotta saying that her mother supported her own ambitions more than her father did.

"I don't think there's anything _wrong_ with having ambitions. I just think it's always good to have a backup plan," he said gruffly. "Especially with such a lofty goal."

Luckily, Carlotta came back at that point and saved me from a continuation of the conversation.

"Drink up, Mamá," she said, handing her mother a bottle of wine. She handed a wine glass to Juanita, and set the other one down at her own place.

"It is a screw cap," Ms Martínez bemoaned as she undid the lid. "Why do wine bottles not have corks these days?"

"It's easier," Carlotta supplied. "Can you imagine if we had to uncork every bottle we sold? Plus it's too easy for the cork to disintegrate, or for the wine to cork..."

"It is not the same though," her mother sighed, pouring herself a generous glass. "Here you are, dear." She handed the bottle to Juanita.

Things got better after that point. Apart from disapproving of my supposed career, her father seemed friendly enough and Juanita also seemed fairly easy-going. Their mother's mood seemed to brighten slightly, though she still didn't seem massively impressed with anything, including her toasted sandwich. I got the funny feeling Antonio didn't like me, but I was used to that. The Lynch brothers were about as hostile as it was possible to be. In comparison, Antonio was nothing. It was hard to be more threatening than a pair of twins who were generally armed with clubs for hitting flying iron balls.

Once we'd all finished eating, Mr Fortescue went back to the topic of careers. This time it was Carlotta in the firing line.

"Have they given you a raise yet?"

She sighed with irritation.

"No, they haven't."

"Don't you think they should? After all, you work all day, four days a week, and you're one of their best chefs-"

"They won't give me a raise, Dad. They don't need to. If I walk, they'll just find someone else. I'm not _that_ special that they'll pay me more to keep me on."

I could tell it was a common subject topic. I caught Carlotta's mum's eye across the table, and she shot me an exasperated look that confirmed my suspicions. She drained her glass and reached for the bottle to refill it.

I hid a grin, beginning to warm towards Ms Martínez. Maybe the wine had loosened her up a bit.

Or maybe this was just something else that displeased her.

"Oliver, now is not the time for this discussion," she said in clipped tones, interrupting him mid-flow.

He fell silent, and I presumed she wore the trousers in their relationship. Not that I could imagine her ever wearing trousers.

He then got up to take care of the bill.

"Oh, I can pay-" I began, my hand going to my pocket.

He smiled at me. I wasn't sure if he meant to be patronising, but it felt like it, given the remark that followed.

"Don't worry, I've got it. I can't imagine you earn too much, so you keep your money. My treat."

_Damn_.

"Can your ego not take this?" Carlotta giggled into my ear.

"Shut up," I muttered back.

My hand found her leg under the table and squeezed hard. She cleared her throat and sat upright, grabbed her wine glass and downed the dregs.

I smirked.

Mr Fortescue shook my hand again as we left.

"It was nice to meet you, James," he said. "Make sure you treat my girl well, she's precious."

"Dad," Carlotta moaned, rolling her eyes. "I don't need _you_ to threaten guys for me. Especially not James."

He grinned, and ruffled her hair.

"You coming back with us?" he asked her.

"Na, I'll pop back to James' for a bit. It was good to see you again, Daddy."

After she'd said her goodbyes, we headed off round the corner to my flat.

"See, that wasn't so bad," she said teasingly.

"No, I only had to deal with your dad disapproving of my lowly-paid job; there wasn't a problem at all," I retorted.

"He wasn't _that_ bad and you know it!"

"I don't think your mum liked me, though," I added.

"Oh, that's just Mamá for you. She didn't have an issue with you at all, she's just ... not the most upbeat of characters."

So my assumptions hadn't been wrong. However, I was still slightly dubious as to her opinion of me.

"Your brother _definitely_ didn't like me," I continued.

"Toni takes after Mamá," she conceded. "Nita ... she's much more like Dad. Much more of a people person. See, _they_ were fine with you."

"Until it came to my profession."

She giggled.

"Yes, well, that was funny."

"I'm glad _you_ found it funny! I was too busy trying to keep the Statute intact."

She had the decency to look slightly sheepish, as I let us into my flat, which was luckily devoid of family members.

"Well, you managed admirably-" she began, before squealing as I threw her over my shoulder.

"And now you're about to find out what happens to people who encourage me to break the Statute..."


	23. twenty-three

The Puddlemere match was our toughest yet. Their team included the Wood twins, Joshua Wadcock, England's reserve Chaser against Transylvania, and Gregory Ellis, the reserve Beater behind Cato and Cleo.

Not only would it be a tough team battle, it would also be an individual challenge for me. I'd played well enough against Tamsin Robins and Jeremiah McLaggen when we'd played the Tornados. Now was my chance to face the other two England incumbents. There was more pressure on me to shine, given that Wadcock was only the reserve – and that Demelza Robins was present at this match.

She'd turned up at the ground fairly early – luckily for us this was a home game, so at least we'd a small advantage there – and took a seat next to Mum. I took the hint and left, not wanting to make conversation awkward. They got on fairly well, having played together at Hogwarts, not to mention all the times they'd come across each other in their respective professions – Mum was usually the reporter sent to cover England business. I knew my presence would change the dynamic of their conversation from a chat between old friends, to a discussion with a Quidditch player's mother, which was unlikely to help my cause.

For the first time in a long time, I was _nervous_. I hadn't even been nervous before the Tornados game in which the stakes had been high. Demelza's presence made it all seem _real_. The squad would be announced at the end of the month, after the second block of games, and twelve weeks after that the World Cup began.

Although twelve weeks didn't seem very long, and the three weeks until the squad announcement seemed more like three days. I only had three matches in which to press my case for inclusion, and only four Chasers would make it. Basically, I had to usurp Wadcock, so today's match was huge. If I played well here, and against the Harpies and the Pride, then I would have a chance.

It was a tough three games in which to showcase myself. The Harpies fielded numerous Welsh players, and the Pride's first team included four of Scotland's first team players, proving a tougher task than the Magpies. I preferred it this way; a trio of games against the Arrows, the Cannons and the Wasps really wouldn't test me the way I felt I needed to be, and would certainly be less impressive to the England management. But today had to go well, or I could say goodbye to my dreams of making this World Cup.

We were a squad member down in the changing room. Keira was sitting in the stands with Demelza, fulfilling her role as England's Beater coach. It seemed near enough pointless; Cato and Cleo were shoo-ins for the England team, and Puddlemere's Ellis was the next best Beater in the country. It was all but guaranteed that they would fill the three Beater slots, but Keira still had to sit with the rest of the coaching squad.

Julia noticed my nerves, and sat down beside me on the bench.

"Just relax," she said quietly. "Go out there and play your natural game. You've been on fire for ages now, you won't have a problem at all. Pretend the coaches aren't there."

I nodded.

"Remember, we're all behind you. You'll be great; I know you will. You always are."

Her words helped, a little.

Just before we walked out onto the pitch to start the game, Della pulled me and Ryan off to one side.

"Keep calm, and don't let the bastards get the Quaffle," she said.

"Nice motivational talk," he said dryly.

"I like it. Short and sweet," I chipped in.

"They're good. We know that. But we also know that we can beat them. Wood's too good to try any fancy tricks against. Let's just go out there, and play _our_ game. We can't let them dictate how we play. We put _them_ on the back foot. Alright?"

I clearly still looked nervous, as she reached out and took my hand.

"Remember, Jim, you're not alone on that pitch. And I promise you, we will do all we can to make sure that you make that damn squad."

I grinned, feeling a bit more confident.

After all, if I couldn't rely on my teammates, who could I rely on?

* * *

><p>"I don't think I've ever known you to be that worried about a match," Brigid said. She lounged across my sofa, throwing Cordelia up in the air, and catching her as she came back down, squeaking merrily.<p>

"I guess it just hit me that there was a lot riding on it," I shrugged.

"Well, you should worry more often, because that's the best I've ever seen you play."

We won by two hundred and thirty points. Stefan caught the Snitch, which obviously increased our points difference, but we also outscored them by eight goals, which was a lot given that we'd expected a close game.

"I was lucky, Wadcock had an off day-"

"He crumbled under the pressure. You didn't. Don't discredit yourself. It sounds wrong coming from you, and anyway you're doing yourself a disservice here. Playing for England is about your mental strength as well as your talent, you know."

"The coach seemed impressed," Carlotta added absent-mindedly, as she flicked through my photo album from school.

Brigid and I both turned to look at her.

"How do you know that?"

"I was sitting near her and your mother," she shrugged. "I wasn't listening in, per se, she just wasn't doing a very good job of keeping her voice down. Is this where you went to _school_?"

She held up the photo album, showing me a shot of me and Freddie fooling around in the grounds, with the castle in the background.

"Yeah, why?"

"Wow," she breathed, looking back at the photo. "That must have been amazing..."

I shrugged.

"It was alright," I said vaguely.

"It looks incredible..." she mused, flicking through the photos.

I smiled fondly at her for a moment, then turned back to Brigid.

"So, how was the date with the Bagman?"

"You mean you haven't asked_ him_?" she said, eyebrows raised.

"I could have," I reasoned, "but I had other things to worry about yesterday – like the game, and making sure he didn't punch me in the face. But given the distinct lack of tears from you and cussing from him and considering there were no arguments between the two of you yesterday, I assumed it went reasonably well. Or, at least, that it wasn't a trainwreck."

She smiled slightly.

"No, it wasn't a trainwreck. It was ... well, it was okay."

"Only okay?"

"He's lovely, he really is, and I _did_ have a good time. But ... he's my client. That makes things a bit dodgy."

I frowned.

"_I'm_ your client, and you're round my house the day after a game, playing keepie-uppie with my pygmy puff. Heck, Ryan's your _brother_. Why should it make a difference here?"

"Because Ryan's always been my brother, and you've been my best friend for ten years. That's different. With Cato, it could make things awkward. If I'd thought the sparks flew, then maybe I could try to make it work, but there's no point in forcing something."

I cocked my head, intrigued.

"Surely if it's something that could make you happy-"

"I doubt it would be a groundbreaking relationship," she said dryly, setting Cordelia down on her stomach. "Anyway, we need to talk contract extensions. Mam wanted you signed up earlier, but she had other things on her plate, and I had other clients to deal with. Basically, she wants to stick another year on it, possibly two. She wanted you signed up as quickly as possible, because she's worried about other teams trying to sign you up once you've played in the World Cup, but-"

"It's not a cert yet," I reminded her.

"Oh, come on, after yesterday it is." She rolled her eyes.

"And besides, I'm not interested in going anywhere else. I don't care how much people offer to pay me. I'm not in it for the money, I just want to play Quidditch, and I'm not leaving the Falcons."

"What if Ryan went to the Kestrels?"

I hesitated. A big part of the reason I wanted to stay at the Falcons was that Ryan – and to a lesser extent Della – played there. Away from Brigid and my family, he was my closest friend, and I'd played Quidditch with him for years.

But there were other people there too. Roxanne, Della, Klaus, Alfie, Julia, Keira...

"I'd still stay," I said firmly. "We're not just a team. We're a family. And I wouldn't leave for anything."

* * *

><p>I seemed to have a knack of breaking my Quidditch gloves. It was frustrating, but it was something that I'd had to come to terms with. After all, I was into my third full season. That was a <em>lot<em> of pairs of gloves.

I'd managed to break my eighth pair during the Puddlemere match. It had actually surprised me how long they'd lasted. I'd hoped to bribe Brigid into picking me up a pair from Quality Quidditch Supplies, but given how busy she seemed, I'd decided against it. When she was busy, she tended to get quite stressed out, and it was wise to not aggravate the issue. As such, I found myself doing my own shopping. It wasn't so bad; it gave me another chance to look at the collection of brooms at the back of the shop.

Once I'd bought my gloves, I headed up to Uncle George's shop, which I always visited when I was in the vicinity. This time I was halted by somebody coming in the opposite direction.

"Potter!"

My eyes followed the sound of the voice and fell on my old Headmistress, Professor McGonagall.

"Professor," I greeted, wondering why on earth she was in Diagon Alley. I was so used to seeing her at school, that it was odd to see her in a different environment during the school term, especially when Hogsmeade was so convenient for the teachers. Not that I expected teachers to spend all their time in the castle, but I was still curious as to what brought her _here_.

"I hear that the Quidditch is going well?" she said.

"Yeah, it's pretty good."

"And your sister, is she well?"

Despite that Lily wasn't one of her pupils, McGonagall often asked after her when she saw me. Or perhaps it was _because_ Lily wasn't at Hogwarts that she asked.

"Yeah, she's fine. Lots of sport, as usual."

I wondered why she'd stopped me for a simple chat. I'd only generally ran into her at Hogwarts when I'd broken the rules, although admittedly that had been a rather frequent pastime of mine.

"I've been meaning to get in touch with you; in fact I've just asked your uncle if he could relay a message to you. Never mind, I'll ask you now. I don't suppose you know of any players who are thinking of retiring soon, do you?" she asked.

I frowned, now _totally_ unsure what we were talking about. She surely wasn't contemplating a change of career?

"I'm not sure. Why?"

"Madam Hooch plans on retiring at the end of the school year, and I'm struggling to find a replacement. She tells me she'll do an extra year if necessary, but after that she definitely won't be coming back."

"_Retiring_?" I said in surprise. "But ... surely she's not that old..."

"Potter, she taught your father how to fly," she said wryly. "I think she's due a quiet retirement."

"With all due respect, Professor, you taught my grandparents..."

Luckily, she didn't take offence at the remark.

"I'm still quite content at the school, Potter. Don't worry yourself about my retirement plans." She smiled. "But if you know of anyone suitably qualified who might be interested in the job, will you tell them to get in touch with me?"

"Of course I will," I said. "There's nothing more important than teaching the youth about our beautiful game, is there?"

"I'm glad you agree with me on such an important issue." She sounded slightly amused. "Anyway, I wouldn't want to keep you-"

"Professor, did you just say you were visiting my Uncle George?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

McGonagall looked as though she was trying not to smile.

"Your cousin pulled off a rather impressive prank yesterday morning. Regrettably for him, it broke twenty-four school rules and I handed him a month's worth of detentions, but it served as a remarkably effective advert for your uncle's shop and his methods of delivering banned products into the school. I expect I'm fighting a losing battle, but I thought that I may as well _try_ to stop him sending his products to my students."

I grinned.

"And did he cooperate?"

"Do you need to ask?" She sighed. "I suppose I shall just have to grin and bear it, and hope your cousin's next target is Sybill; that way at least I'll get some entertainment out of it. Well, it was good to see you, Potter. Thank you for the help."

And she was off, leaving me standing in the middle of Diagon Alley, open-mouthed with shock.

* * *

><p>Carlotta had come to three of our four Quidditch games, only missing the one I hadn't played in. Each Saturday, she'd turned up at my flat in plenty of time to accompany me and Mum. She'd already become wise to Mum's timings, and had turned up early enough to have breakfast before the Puddlemere match.<p>

I'd reminded her during the week about the Harpies match. The thought of an all-female team seemed to interest her and made her even more eager to watch this game, so I was more than a little confused when Saturday morning arrived – and she didn't.

"Just _ring_ her, James," Mum sighed, having cleared up the kitchen, and the rest of my flat to boot. "We need to be going in ten minutes, we can't just sit around waiting for her."

"I can't _ring_ her, that just looks desperate-"

"No, it looks as though she said she was going to come and you're just checking you're not making yourself late for no reason. Come on, James, we don't have time to debate the ins and outs of a phone call!"

I pulled a face, but picked up the handset and dialled her number.

She answered after four rings.

"Hello?"

"Hey, are you coming today?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Coming to what?"

"My Quidditch game! It's against the Harpies, remember? The all-woman team? You seemed really interested in this one..."

"That's _today_?"

"Well, yes; it is a Saturday..."

"Shit, James, I totally forgot! I – I can't, I've made plans with Flick for today."

"Oh," was all I said.

"I'm so sorry, I really am." She sounded apologetic. "I promise I won't forget the next one, though. Is it next Saturday?"

"It is, yeah," I said, my voice sounding horribly flat.

"Well, I'm definitely free then, so I'll come to that one, I _promise_. It's just, this one totally slipped my mind..."

"It's fine." I tried not to sound too bothered. "I just thought I'd check, that's all. Have – have fun today, with whatever you're doing."

"I'll try, although I'll just be feeling guilty now! Good luck for today, by the way. I'll see if I can pop round somewhen tomorrow when I'm on my break, does that sound okay?"

"Yeah, that's fine. See you then."

"See you!"

Mum raised an eyebrow as I put the phone down.

"She's not coming?"

"She forgot," I relayed, grabbing my kit. "You're right, we need to go, or we'll be late..."

I wasn't myself that game. I didn't play _badly_, but it was my worst game of the season so far. Luckily we won, and none of the England set-up were there to see my poor performance, but I was still angry with myself. I was angry with Carlotta, too.

I wasn't upset that she'd forgotten my match. That in itself didn't bother me. It wasn't as though I needed her at my games in order to play well. What bothered me was that eight weeks ago, she'd seemed utterly riveted by the mere idea of Quidditch. She'd been so eager to see me play, and even after my first match, she'd wanted to know when the next one was, and the next, and the next...

So it seemed odd, after such excitement, that she could suddenly _forget_ about one of them. It suggested she wasn't as enthusiastic as she'd been before, that the excitement was totally wearing off.

It suggested that she was getting bored of it all.

I couldn't blame her; she'd stumbled into this expecting a short fling with a guy who frequented her nightclub, and she'd found herself learning about a totally new world. And while that must have been exciting at first, it seemed as though the challenge of keeping this – keeping _us_ – a secret from her friends and family was getting too much for her.

I didn't want to have her memories wiped. Right from the start, I'd been against it. But if this continued ... I couldn't think of any other solution.


	24. twenty-four

As promised, Carlotta visited me the day after the Harpies game.

"I am so sorry," she said again, the moment I'd shut the door. "I really am. I didn't mean to forget; it's just that I have such a bad memory at times. I arranged something with Flick and completely forgot about your match until you rang me! I was gutted; I really wanted to watch it..."

"It's okay." I forced a smile. "You didn't miss much anyway; I had a bit of an off day."

"Oh." She looked even more guilty. "Oh, I'm really sorry-"

"You don't need to apologise, it wasn't your fault," I lied. "It happens sometimes. Just ... can I ask you something?"

"Sure you can."

"You're not ... getting bored of all this magic stuff, are you? I mean, it's okay if you are, it's just..."

I tailed off. I really didn't fancy telling her I was concerned about having to modify her memory. If I so much as hinted at memory modification, she'd probably immediately deny losing interest anyway. After all, who would freely consent to having memories removed?

"Of course I'm not!" she protested, her eyes wide. "I love Quidditch. I think it's great. I genuinely just forgot about this match, that's all. But I'll come along next weekend, I promise. I've written it down this time, so that I can't forget, _and_ I've told Flick I'm spending the day with you, so even if I do forget, she can remind me. Who are you playing next?"

"Pride of Portree," I said, feeling more relaxed. "They're the second Scottish team. They're a bit better than the Magpies, and they were good last season, so that will be more of a challenge."

"But you've won all of your games so far?"

"We have, yeah. If we win this one, we'll be doing well because our next group of games will be relatively easy ones, and then the game after _that_ is a guaranteed win. The last two matches will be tough, but we can make things easier for ourselves by winning as many of these as possible, because then the pressure is off slightly. The Pride will be tough, though. Portree is a bitch of a place to play at."

She pulled a face.

"Well, I hope you win," she said.

"So do I." I grinned.

* * *

><p>I was hoping for a quiet week, in preparation for the game. I should have known it wouldn't actually happen; my plans rarely came to fruition. The week got off to a bad start, with a phone call on Monday night.<p>

I picked it up on the third ring.

"'Lo?"

It was Kit.

"James, are you busy?"

"No, why?" I was curious; Kit rarely rang my phone. In fact, I couldn't think of an instance when he _had_ done before.

"It's Lily-"

I sat upright in my chair.

"Is she okay?" I asked sharply.

"She's just found out that Robbie is going with Rosalind to their prom."

"You're _joking_!" I exclaimed. "The fucking bastard – what's he going with _her_ for?"

"I don't know, but Lily's locked herself in their room, and she won't let me in, and Maddie's at tennis training. I need you to get in through the wardrobe and check she's okay, because I really don't think that she is-"

"Sure I will." I got to my feet. "Where are you now?"

"I'm at Mum and Dad's; I didn't want to ring you from the middle of the corridor. I'll head back there in a moment; will you unlock the door for me?"

"Yeah, not a problem. See you in a moment."

I hung up, then practically threw the phone down and Disapparated.

The peephole was unblocked. I couldn't imagine it had been one of Lily's priorities when she'd retreated to the safe haven of her room. I could see her, lying face down on her bed, her body shaking with the tears I could hear through the door. I didn't even bother to knock on the inside of the door; I pushed it open and sat down next to her on the bed. She raised her head as the mattress sank with my weight. When she saw that it was me she sat up and flung her arms round my neck, sobbing into my shoulder.

I said nothing, just held her tightly as she cried, and tried to convince myself that cursing Robbie Bennett _really_ wasn't a good idea.

Then she said six words which just about broke my heart.

"I wish I wasn't a Squib..."

She hadn't said that in years. Not even when Kit took the news about magic badly, not even when she'd had to have a boy Obliviated. The last time she'd said it had been nearly seven years ago, at Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters, when she'd had to watch the rest of her family boarding the Hogwarts Express, knowing that if things had been different, she'd have been boarding it with us.

I had no idea what to say to this. No idea how I could possibly make the situation better, how I could possibly make up for the fact that my little sister had just had her heart broken.

"How can you wish that?" I said eventually.

"Because if I wasn't a Squib then I wouldn't even know him!" She pulled away and wiped her face with her sleeve. "If I wasn't a Squib then I wouldn't have to worry about telling Muggles who I really am..."

And then it all fell into place.

"There's no guarantee it would happen again, Lil," I said soothingly, gently wiping at a few stray tears. "Besides, he's sensible enough, isn't he? He's Maddie's brother; there's no reason to suggest he'd take it badly..."

"There was no reason to suggest that it would go badly last time, and it did." Her eyes filled with tears again. "I don't have a _choice_, James. I can't tell him about magic. I don't think I could cope with the rejection..."

Her voice cracked.

"Want me to hex him for you?" I suggested.

She smiled faintly.

"I don't know if that would help," she said. "How do you know about this, anyway?"

"I was chatting to Kit the other week..."

She closed her eyes in resignation.

"Kit. Of _course_. He's far too perceptive..."

"He cares about you," I put in.

There was a soft knock on the door.

"That'll be him." I got to my feet.

"How do you know that?"

"Why do you think I'm here?" I said, making my way through Maddie's room to the door. "He was worried about you, and rang me."

When I opened the door, Kit was holding a mug of tea in one hand and a bar of chocolate in the other.

"You've done this before," I said quietly, shutting the door behind him.

"I'm well versed in the art of comforting females," was his reply.

Lily barely gave him enough time to put the tea and chocolate down before she flung herself at him, hugging him tightly and bursting into tears once more.

"Oh, _Lil_, he's not worth the tears," Kit replied. He sat down on the spot on the bed which I'd just vacated, and put his arms round her. "He's a complete and utter_ idiot_. I mean, _Rosalind_? She's made Maddie's life hell for years. Of all the people for him to say yes to..." He shook his head exasperatedly.

"Did she ask him then?" I asked him quietly.

"Yeah. I guess we should at least give him credit for not asking _her_..."

I wondered how Rosalind had asked Robbie. If she'd cornered him – which wouldn't surprise me, having been the victim of her leech-like tendencies before – then he might have been hard-pressed to say no. Even so, as Kit had said himself, Rosalind had bullied Maddie when they'd first started boarding school. There was a reason that I didn't like her; she'd given Lily just as hard a time, right from the off. I wouldn't even _consider_ taking her to the girls' end of school dance, so the fact that Robbie had agreed to was bewildering.

"Don't worry, Lil; Maddie will give him what for when she finds out," Kit reassured her, as her tears subsided. He handed her the mug of tea as she sat up, wiping her face again. "She'll be absolutely _seething_. In fact, I don't know that I want to be the person to break the news to her..."

"She'll be more mad at me," Lily said glumly.

I frowned, as I sat down on the other side of her.

"Why should she be mad at _you_?"

"Because if I'd just _asked_ him in the first place, when she asked you, then this wouldn't have happened! But I just couldn't do it! It would have been horrible if he'd said no, and even if he _had_ said yes, it would have just made things _worse_, because he'd think it was just as friends..."

Kit and I glanced at each other over her head. So he'd been right in his assumptions.

"Why don't you just tell him how you feel?" he suggested, breaking up the chocolate bar.

She looked at him scornfully, though her bloodshot eyes softened the look slightly.

"_Really_, Christopher?"

Luckily for him, he only needed that one remark before comprehension dawned on him.

"Lils, you can't let one bad experience dictate your life-"

"'Bad experience' is certainly one way of referring to someone having their _memories removed_," she said irritably, taking the chocolate he handed to her nevertheless. "I'm not going there again, _especially_ not with Maddie's brother. I wouldn't want that to happen to _any_ of the Bennetts, let alone him."

"What if you have his memory of agreeing to take Rosalind to the prom removed?" I suggested.

She laughed, and bit off a chunk of the chocolate.

"Or maybe have her memory of asking him removed?" she added.

"Turn her hair green again; that worked out well last time," Kit chipped in.

Her eyes lit up.

"I could make that happen just before the prom-"

"_No_, Lily," I reasoned. "Breaking the Statute, remember?"

She pouted.

"Since when have _you_ been the rational one?" She sighed, and popped the rest of the chocolate into her mouth. "My trouble is," she said around the square of chocolate, "I now need someone to go to the prom with."

"I could ask one of the guys-" Kit began, but she shook her head, cutting him off.

"That would be too awkward."

"I'm sure I could find a willing suitor," I put in. "Hey, I could ask Murph if you want? You'd enjoy that; you'd have a right laugh."

"You mean, _you'd_ have a far better time with Ryan there," she smiled.

"So, is that a yes, or-"

"That's a yes," she said. "If you think he'd go-"

"Of course he would, he adores you," I said with a grin of my own. "Just so long as he's free, of course. When is it?"

"Fourth of July. It's a Saturday," she added.

"Whoa, we'll have our last game that day-"

"No, you don't," she said. "The game's on the Friday, because the draw for the World Cup groups is on the Saturday. So you just need to make sure that you guys don't take a whole day or more to beat the Bats – and make sure the Lynch brothers don't try to mash your face in, either. Maddie won't be too impressed if you turn up with your facial features rearranged."

"Hey, she asked me to go with her; she didn't specify I had to be injury-free."

Then we heard the door to Maddie's room open; milliseconds later there was a loud bang as it hit the wall.

"Uh oh," Lily muttered.

"Lil! Have you heard-"

Maddie headed through the doorway into Lily's room, and stopped, spotting me and Kit. I heard the door shut, and wondered who else was here.

"Robbie's taking Rosabint to the prom?" Lily's light-hearted tone astonished me.

"So it's true, then?" Maddie looked furious. Behind her, their other friends Imogen and Grace turned up in the doorway. Grace's eyes fell on me and her cheeks went red; Imogen looked mildly surprised to see Kit here. "I don't believe him! What does he think he's _doing_, asking her?!"

"_She_ asked _him_," Imogen supplied, perching on the bed in front of Kit. "It was a bit of a public display..."

"I'm not sure why he was here; I guess it was to see you, Mads," Grace continued, sitting down on Lily's desk chair. "We were heading back from dinner, and he was waiting outside the building. Well, she marched right up to him – no, marched is the wrong word. She _strutted_ up to him, fluttered her eyelashes like only she can, and asked if he'd take her to the prom. Well, I guess he thought he couldn't say no..."

"Bollocks; he can _always_ say no to her!" Maddie growled. "I told you to get a move on and ask him, Lils! We could have all had a right laugh together, and now he's going with the Queen Bitch! Kit, you'll have to get one of your lot to go with her now-"

"James is going to ask Ryan," Lily cut in smoothly.

"Ooh, good shout, Jim!" She nodded approvingly. "Ooh, I can't _believe_ that boy! I'm going to give him a piece of my mind..." She headed back into her room.

"He's going to regret the day he was born," Grace giggled.

"Well, it's his own fault for agreeing to go with her." Imogen wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Honestly, can he not remember all the aggravation she's caused-"

Maddie's angry voice cut her off.

"Robert Bennett, what the _hell_ possessed you to say yes to a prom date with _Rosalind Wentworth-Farlington_? Are you a complete bone-headed _moron_?"

Grace and Imogen clapped their hands over their mouths over their mouths to stifle their laughter, and even Lily smiled.

"Chocolate, anyone?" Kit said.


	25. twenty-five

The week's run up to the Pride match was the worst I'd ever experienced.

The England World Cup squad was to be announced two days after the match – assuming, of course, that it finished the same day that it started. If the match was a long one, it was possible we could still be playing when the squads were announced.

It was all that the journalists could talk about. They'd all written articles, listing the players they would choose if they were picking the England squad.

They all picked me.

The _Prophet_, the _Quibbler_, _Quidditch Weekly_, _Which Broomstick?_ – even _Witch Weekly_. The _Prophet_ had an eight-page pull out dedicated to the upcoming squad announcements, and its journalists' picks.

I didn't read Mum's.

The squad was the only thing people wanted to talk about. I was used to people stopping me in Diagon Alley, congratulating me on my latest game, asking me how my family were – even people I didn't know. That was the nature of being part of the Weasley family; everybody knew your face, and felt as though they knew the entire family personally. Sometimes, it was nice. Other times – such as now – it wasn't so nice. More people than ever before wanted to talk to me, just when I didn't want human interaction.

The only reason I could bear training was that nobody talked to me about it. Nobody _needed_ to. Most of the squad had been through the same, torturous wait to see if they'd achieved their first international call-up; all but four of the squad had international caps. Even the other three who hadn't been through this seemed to know I didn't want to talk about it – although Roxanne probably knew to avoid the topic from having grown up with me.

Klaus and Stefan were both feeling as pressured as I was. They, too, remained tight-lipped on the subject, but it was clear to see they both feared they might not make the German and Bulgarian squads respectively. Klaus, however, had done all he could to press his case; he'd played a game more than Stefan, so wouldn't be playing against the Pride. Sinead was sticking to her promise of giving everyone as much exposure as possible.

Della was certain that Klaus would make the squad, proclaiming that her cousin was clearly the best Seeker their country could field. Klaus broke his silence on the topic to point out to me that it was much easier for her to be confident that he'd make it, given that her own inclusion was assured. She'd been one of the German first-choice Chasers since the last World Cup, and there was no question that she would make their squad. Cato and Cleo were also World Cup definites, and Ryan had already been told he'd made the Irish squad. As a result, the four of them were much more relaxed in training, and tried their best all week to keep me, Klaus and Stefan thinking positively.

There was an awkward atmosphere around training – or at least, an awkward atmosphere between me and Keira. I was just glad that she was a Beater and not a Chaser, so proximity between us could be avoided. Even so, her involvement with England loomed over both of us.

I wasn't sure if she knew whether I was close to making the squad. I wasn't sure if I _wanted_ to know. As it stood, I knew that so long as I played well against the Pride, I could be satisfied I'd done all that I could to stake my claim for a spot in the squad.

Unless the squad had already been decided, and the Harpies match had quashed my chances.

I was trying not to think about that. I was just trying to remind myself that I'd played well against the Magpies and Puddlemere, and that I could easily do so again. The trouble was, I'd not felt _pressured_ to play well against the Magpies. I didn't get nervous for League matches these days; I'd performed well in that many games that I was confident of my ability. Even the pressure of the Puddlemere match, with Demelza present, was nothing compared to this one.

I wasn't sure I wanted to know if Keira knew anything about my chances. Part of me wondered if knowing where I stood would make things easier. If the squad had already been decided, and I hadn't made it, then there would be no point in me playing; at least then Roxanne could have another game. Conversely, if I _did_ have a chance, at least I'd know what I had to do.

I hadn't considered that Keira was going through the same torment; wondering whether she should tell me what she knew. I noticed her talking to Sinead, Cato and Della a lot, but I didn't twig that they were debating whether I needed to know what she did. Then, on Wednesday, after Sinead announced the team – me, Della, Ryan, Cato, Cleo, Stefan and Alfie –she and Keira pulled me to one side.

"How're you feeling?" Keira asked me.

"Alright," I lied. My intestines felt as though they were tying themselves in knots.

"I thought you might like to know the situation in terms of your England chances." She cut straight to the point. "They're good. Demelza's picked three of the Chasers, but she's stuck on the fourth. Emily, Tamsin and Jeremiah are in-"

"And it's a straight shoot-out between me and Wadcock for the fourth spot," I finished, not sure whether to be happy at this news.

"She's leaning towards you, I think. Wadcock's not been playing well recently; whether it's the pressure getting to him or just a loss of form, I'm not sure, but it's gotten her concerned. You, on the other hand, have been playing well. _Very_ well. She was impressed with your performance against him, that will have helped your cause massively."

"I'm guessing there's a 'but' here," I said gingerly.

"She _is_ concerned about taking a punt on you. She's not the type of person to gamble unless she's certain it's the right thing to do. You've played well in a strong Falcons squad, and she's not sure whether that's a good enough test of your mental character. I think she wants to pick you, but she's not totally convinced."

I chewed my lip nervously.

"So it all comes down to this weekend's performance."

"It does. Puddlemere are playing the Bats, so Wadcock will have a hard time of it up against O'Sullivan and Quigley."

My mouth twitched slightly. Fiona O'Sullivan and Aisling were Ryan's fellow Chasers in the Ireland squad. Their places were also guaranteed, so they, like Ryan, would have the pressure off, meaning they would both probably have blinders. Wadcock certainly didn't have an easy fixture in which to press his case.

"If he doesn't play fantastically, and you do ... well, you'll have done all you can. I'm not committing to anything, because it's Demelza's choice, but you'd be looking good for a spot."

"But I've got a tough match too."

"_Tough_, but not as tough as Wadcock's. McCormack's a good Chaser, but it's a slightly easier prospect then playing the Bats, though still tough enough to provide a good comparison with Wadcock's performance. And even if he _does_ play well on Saturday, you've been better than him all season so far."

"Will anyone be at our game?" I asked. I felt certain someone would be, but if they wanted to watch Wadcock as well as me...

"Tamsin's not playing for the Tornados on Saturday. They're playing the Warriors, so they can afford to leave her out. She'll be at Portree, and Demelza will be at Ballycastle."

So Wadcock was playing away as well. This was some relief; Portree was possibly the worst place in the League to play at, but Ballycastle wasn't far behind.

"It basically comes down to who can hold their nerve," Sinead summed up. "Just go out there, play your own game and don't let the occasion get to you. If you do that, then you'll prove to Demelza that you've got the mental strength she's looking for. She can't _possibly_ overlook you-"

"Unless Wadcock plays well," I put in.

"You can't affect his game," she reminded me. "Just go out there and play the way you always play. Regardless of what happens on Monday, I know you'll do us all proud on Saturday."

I smiled slightly, and for the first time ever found myself hoping the Lynch brothers had a good game for the Bats.

"Don't worry," Ryan reassured me later, "Aisling and Fiona won't let you down."

I nodded, but didn't say anything. I was slightly concerned I'd be sick if I opened my mouth.

"Just play like you normally do, and you'll be fine," he continued.

I opted to change the subject.

"Lily's got some school dance coming up, and she needs a date for it. I'm going; Maddie wants me to take her. It's the same day as the World Cup draw, would you be able-"

I tailed off, seeing the look on his face.

"Desmond says he wants the squad to watch the draw together," he said awkwardly. Desmond Ryan was the Irish team's head coach. "I really would love to go with her, but I won't be able to."

He looked sheepish, as though he felt guilty for mentioning he was already in his country's squad. This barely bothered me, though; I was more concerned about finding Lily a date. Ryan had been my first – and only - option.

"You, er..." He scratched his stubbly cheek, looking awkward. "You could ask Cato?"

I raised an eyebrow.

"He's seeing your sister."

He shrugged.

"We both know it's noncommittal. As is this dance. Ask him, I'm sure he'd take her."

I wasn't sure I liked the idea, but I'd promised Lily I'd find her a date, and she would probably be quite pleased if I produced Cato for her.

So I asked him, and tried to quash the slight twinge of annoyance I felt when he said yes.

* * *

><p>I didn't tell my family what Keira had told me about my chances of making the squad. I didn't want them knowing I needed to play well in this match. They all knew that I had to play well to maximise my chances though, so all turned out for it – even Uncle Percy and Molly.<p>

Even Dad.

Carlotta was true to her word, and turned up at mine early on Saturday morning. I said little to her, and luckily she seemed to sense my nerves, and instead engaged in light-hearted conversation with Mum as I tried to force some food down my throat. Eventually, Mum took pity on me and cleared my plate away.

"Come on, darling; there's no point in sitting here all morning."

Portree was generally quite overcast. Luckily, today the visibility was pretty good, although there was still a fairly strong breeze. We were the first people there, but Sinead and Brigid turned up soon afterwards. Brigid came and sat down next to me, took my hand and squeezed it tightly. She didn't say anything, for which I was grateful.

People arrived in dribs and drabs as normal, my family scattered amongst those Apparating into the ground. Some people tried to talk to me, but I ignored them, not wanting to hear what they had to say.

Eventually, the rest of the squad arrived, and Sinead summoned us into the changing rooms. I got to my feet, my insides churning. There was a chorus of 'good luck' from my family. Carlotta kissed my cheek, Freddie clapped my shoulder – "Go get 'em, Jim" – Rose and Lily both hugged me tightly, Albus punched my arm lightly, and Mum brushed the hair out of my face and planted a kiss on my forehead.

"You'll be fine," she murmured.

As I passed Dad, he reached out and took my arm.

"James, wait-"

"Jim, come on!" Della called from the pitch.

I glanced at her, then turned back to Dad.

"I've got to go," I said. "See you after the game."

He released my arm and I turned and dashed down the steps of the stand. As I did, I could have sworn I heard him wish me good luck.

After we'd changed, we headed out for a warm-up. I tried to calm myself down, reasoning that if I was nervous, I wouldn't play as well. It was difficult though, especially when I caught a glimpse of Tamsin Robins in the stand.

"I think I'm going to throw up," I muttered to Della.

"Well, make sure you get it down the toilet," she replied matter-of-factly.

I smiled slightly, despite myself. That was Della's typical way of dealing with things. Her chirpy mood was infectious, and made me feel slightly better; she seemed confident enough that I would play well. I just hoped that it wasn't ill-placed.

After our warm up, we returned to the changing room. Sinead looked tense. She'd not given us defined match tactics all week, and now, we needed them.

"This is difficult," she said slowly. "Normally, I'd say that we want this game to be over as soon as possible, but..."

I caught her glancing at me, then Stefan, and twigged.

I wasn't the only one who needed to play well in this match. Stefan was concerned about his position in the Bulgarian squad, and this was his last chance to impress his selectors.

The trouble was, the job of a Chaser and the job of a Seeker conflicted. For me to impress, I needed as long a match as possible. For Stefan to impress, he needed to catch the Snitch as soon as possible.

Whichever tactics Sinead laid down, they would only benefit one of us. And she couldn't choose between us.

"Just ... just play," she finished. "Just play, and win."

* * *

><p>Sinead's advice was much easier to give than it was to heed. Facing four of Scotland's team made it an even tougher task. The silver lining for me was that only one of their Chasers was of international class – Elspeth McCormack, the granddaughter of Scotland's best ever Chaser, Catriona McCormack. The Pride team was somewhat of a family affair; her brother Angus was one of the Beaters, and their cousin Finlay McGregor was the Keeper, following in his mother Meghan's footsteps. The Pride's fourth international player was their Seeker, Donald McBride, and so Stefan would have a tough task.<p>

They weren't going to give us an easy time of it, that was for sure. They were out for a win, and a large one at that; they were in the hunt for the League title, and were only just below us in the table. On top of that, their Scottish players were naturally looking to impress as much as possible before their own squad announcement – they knew they'd would be picked, or possibly already had been, but in their case it was more about proving they deserved to represent their country on the biggest stage.

They got off to a good start. Or at least, _I_ got off to a bad one. Ryan caught the Quaffle at the start, as planned, but I failed to take the catch, and Elspeth snatched it up and scored. They'd managed to score three more goals before we got ourselves on the board.

"Jim, you're trying too hard," Della hissed to me after she'd converted her chance. "Just _relax_!"

But I _couldn't_. Every time I tried, I caught a glimpse of Tamsin, scrutinising my every move; of Mum, looking nervous; of Freddie, waiting for me to start playing like he knew I could. I wasn't sure what was worse; the hope or the expectation.

Another fumble, another drop, another Pride goal. Another glance at the stand. A disappointed shake of the head from Dad.

Disappointment. Again. I supposed I ought to have been used to it by now.

And suddenly, Stefan went into a dive, McBride hot in pursuit. My stomach contracted. We'd not been playing for that long, and I'd messed up too many times already; if Stefan ended the game now then I was done for. I hadn't done nearly enough to impress Tamsin. Heck, I hadn't done _anything_ that would have impressed her.

My heart sank as he rose out of the dive – and then I realised that his hand was empty. My first instinct was to look at McBride, in case he had the Snitch, but he too was empty-handed, and was wearing the expression of a man who'd just fallen for a ruse.

Then Stefan glanced at me, and I twigged.

Stefan _had_ seen the Snitch – and had flown in the opposite direction, his only choice being to lure McBride away from it. He could have caught it, won the game for us, and guaranteed his call-up. Instead, he'd just thrown caution to the wind, and risked his own World Cup chances in order to give me a chance to shine.

I _had_ to make the damn squad now. If I didn't, I'd be letting Stefan down.

I realised Sinead was right. I had to play this game as though it was like any other. I had to stop thinking about the squad, about Tamsin, about my family. I had to shut it all out of my mind, pretend that nobody else existed. For now, the only people who were relevant were Ryan, Della and McGregor. Nobody else. Not even Elspeth McCormack.

Because I sure as hell wasn't going to let her get a fingertip on that Quaffle.

I caught the Quaffle. This time, I kept hold of it. I kept hold of it all the way up the pitch, weaving past Elspeth, ducking past her fellow Chaser Catriona Campbell, swerving round a Bludger. As I headed towards the posts I pulled my arm back, and threw the Quaffle with so much force that it soared through the middle hoop, with too much force for McGregor to stop it, and travelled for a good twenty feet before beginning to drop.

Della clapped me on the back triumphantly as McGregor flew off to retrieve the Quaffle.

"_Played_, James!" she said. "Just _believe_ in yourself, and you can do this. Just don't do _that_ again!"

I smiled ever so slightly, but said nothing. After all, it was actions, not words, that were relevant right now.

From that point onwards, things began to click. My moment of madness, albeit risky, had blown away the nerves and the cobwebs. I was reading Ryan and Della's moves, as I should have been from the start; and the Quaffle was now sticking. Slowly but surely, we began to ramp things up, and we overturned the deficit, turning it into a solid lead.

Slowly, but surely, I began to have faith in myself.

Yes, Elspeth McCormack was good. Yes, McGregor was good. And yes, Wadcock was good, and was possibly having his best game of the season against the Bats.

But I knew that _I_ was good too. I knew that I wanted this, a spot in the England squad, more than anything else. And I knew that I wasn't going to give up without a fight.

* * *

><p>After the match, Sinead told me I'd played some of the best Quidditch she'd ever seen, not just from me but in her entire career. It was high praise indeed, from a member of one of the best Chaser trios in history. I couldn't tell her where I'd pulled it from. I had no idea myself I could play so well, let alone where I'd managed to dig it up from after my appalling start.<p>

"Don't worry about the start," she said, beaming widely. "If anything, this gives you more credibility. Remember what Keira was saying; that Demelza wasn't sure that your mental strength had been tested? Well, if ever she wanted proof you could deal with the pressure, here it is. The fact you can turn a start like that into a performance like that ... well, if you're not in the squad after that, I'll eat my foot."

"What happened in the Puddlemere game?" I asked tentatively.

"Bats beat them by three-fifty. Wadcock had a _terrible_ game."

"Really?" My grin was beginning to mirror hers.

"Yeah. Bit of a shame, really, because that result's denied us top spot, but even so, we're second in the table. And with four relatively easy games on the bounce to come..."

We were definitely all feeling pretty giddy that evening. On top of my performance and our overall league position, Stefan had also had a good game. The best Seekers were able to judge the right moment to catch the Snitch; his dummy early on in the match had demonstrated this perfectly, and he was now beginning to believe that he'd make the Bulgarian squad, which we'd all been trying to reassure him about for weeks. The happiness wasn't just confined to us Quidditch players; Cato had approached Lily at the end of the match and asked her himself if he could take her to her dance. She'd looked at me slightly puzzled, clearly still expecting Ryan to be her date, but said yes nevertheless, looking thoroughly delighted with her new date. I grinned, relieved to see her so happy. At that moment, everything seemed to be going right.

The feeling of euphoria had well and truly worn off by Sunday morning, though. In the cold light of day, the situation was crystal clear; I'd done all that I could. All I could do now was sit, and wait, for twenty-four agonising hours, to see if I'd achieved one of my lifetime aims, in winning a call-up to the England squad.


	26. twenty-six

I awoke ridiculously early Monday, the morning of the squad announcements. I didn't even try to get back to sleep; I knew it would be fruitless. Instead, I got out of bed, and tuned into the Quidditch News channel on the television, waiting for news of the squads to filter through.

Because of the time difference, the Australia and New Zealand squads had been announced overnight, as had Samoa's. The Samoans were ranked outside the top thirty-two teams in the world but had made it into the main draw along with four other such teams, as some big names including Transylvania and Belgium had missed out on qualification. They weren't expected to shock anyone, but it would certainly be a big experience for them, as they'd never gotten this far before.

The African squads were the next to trickle through; Egypt, Ethiopia, Uganda, Morocco, Tanzania, South Africa and Nigeria. Then the Russians, the Georgians and the Turks. The first point of real interest was the Bulgarian squad. I grinned as the name 'Krum' appeared. We'd all been right; Stefan hadn't needed to worry about a thing. It looked a strong squad; it was clear to see why they were ranked top in the world.

The nerves began to build as more European squads were announced. Norway, then Poland. Italy. Luxembourg. Finally Germany's squad. Two Brands, one of whom had the letters 'VC' next to her name.

"Nice one, Della," I said quietly.

And still, my phone didn't ring.

Ireland's squad was next. It was released before France's, Scotland's and Wales' as well as England's, as it had been decided nearly a week ago. The names were truly terrifying. Connolly, Kiely, both Lynches, Murphy, O'Hare, O'Sullivan, Quigley ... the list went on and on. Regardless of whether or not I made England's squad, I hoped against hope we wouldn't come up against Ireland at any stage in the tournament. Their squad was probably the second strongest of those named so far – but then, they were ranked fourth in the world, one spot above England, and the second and third best, Uruguay and Peru, hadn't been named yet.

The thought filled me with dread; there was surely no chance of avoiding all four teams above us in the world rankings at some stage in the tournament? We'd have to avoid them in the quarter-finals _and_ hope that results there went our way so as to avoid them if we made the semi-finals. That didn't seem like a likely outcome. Of course, it was always possible that we could lose our quarter-final – or not even make it out of our group. _That_ would ensure that we didn't face any of those four teams...

But I didn't like thinking about that. I knew England's smallest hopes were of making the quarter-finals. Demelza would be disappointed not to make the semis. Making the _final_ would be incredible – and winning the Cup was just unthinkable. Four years ago I'd watched from the sidelines as England crashed out at the group stages. It had happened once too often and the Department of Magical Games and Sports had called for a complete overhaul; out went the previous coaching team, and in came Demelza. Many of the players were also dropped; only the Woods and Tamsin survived.

It had been then, at seventeen and about to start my Seventh Year at Hogwarts, that I truly realised what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to make that squad. I knew that I could play better than most of those who let us down in that World Cup. I set myself a lofty aim; to play for England at the next World Cup. I would play with far more pride and honour than those who'd worn the robes before me and I'd be able to look in the mirror and be proud of the person looking back at me.

That was my aim, and I hadn't stopped striving for it. But it was possible that it had already passed me by.

Next up was an announcement from Wales – they were delaying their squad announcement by six hours. Clearly they hadn't made their decision yet. Was this why I'd heard nothing, too? Were England also deliberating still?

And then, my phone rang. I jumped a mile as it pealed, and dived across the sofa to pick it up, freezing at the last moment.

Did this mean that I was in? Or did Demelza ring those who hadn't made it, to let them down gently? After all, she surely should have announced the squad to the public by now; surely she'd have let the full eleven know by now?

Of course, it was possible that it wasn't even Demelza ringing me. If it wasn't, then whoever it _was_ was going to get it in the neck for getting me so worked up.

But sure enough, it was Demelza Robins' smooth voice which greeted me as I answered the phone.

"Morning, James, it's Demelza. I hope I haven't woken you up?"

"No, I was already awake," I replied, beginning to feel nauseous.

"Nervous?" She sounded _amused_.

"A little."

"Well, you don't need to be. You've made the squad."

It took a moment for the words to sink in.

"I – you're joking."

"Do you want me to be joking?"

"No!" I said quickly. "I just ... I'm in? I'm _really_ in?"

She laughed.

"Yes, James, you're in. So long as you want to be, of course-"

"Of course I do!" I said hurriedly. "It's just ... it's a bit of ... well, not a _shock_ exactly, but..."

"It's what you were hoping for, but never dared to dream about?" she suggested. "I know the feeling. But you should have had more faith in yourself! You've been playing fantastically all season for the Falcons, and you especially impressed Tamsin against the Pride. Of course, we'll need to work on your nerves, see if we can harness them a bit because on the international stage you'll be punished badly for even the slightest slip..."

I tuned out of what she was saying and stared across the room, as the news finally sank in.

_I was in the England squad_.

My nerves were dissipating, to be replaced by complete and utter ecstasy. I could almost envisage my name in black on the news channel, after McLaggen's and before Tamsin's ... '_James Potter, Falmouth Falcons_'...

"...so you'll need to come to the Ministry to do all the formal bits," Demelza was saying. "Level Seven, of course. Come as soon as you can, so we can get it all sorted and out of the way. I need to go; I need to announce you all to the press. I'm running a bit late, as you might have gathered! Sorry to have kept you hanging, but hopefully it was all worth it in the end. So I'll see you at the Ministry in a few minutes?"

"I'll be there straight away!" I said eagerly.

"I look forward to seeing you."

I put the phone down, and jumped to my feet, ready to Disapparate. Then I looked down, and halted.

Maybe not _straight_ away. Getting dressed first might be a good idea.

* * *

><p>Ten minutes later, I was at the Ministry, making my way to Level Seven, where the Department of Magical Games and Sports was located. I bumped into Mum in the Atrium. For a moment, she seemed surprised to see me, but her shock turned to joy as she twigged why I was there. I assumed Demelza hadn't yet announced the squad, and Mum was hovering around waiting for the moment she <em>did<em>.

"Are you in?" she whispered, evidently wanting to make sure.

I didn't need to answer her; my grin said it all. She let out a quiet squeal, and pulled me into a tight hug.

"Oh, well done baby! I _told_ you that you'd make it! Oh, I'm so _proud_ of you..." She pulled away, and planted a quick kiss on my forehead. "You should go, you need to get all your paperwork sorted, you'll need to register with the Ministry as an England player. Oh, just think, my little boy, playing for _England_!" She beamed, and her eyes welled with tears. "Make sure you pop up to see your father once you've done all the formalities; he'll want to know the good news."

"I doubt that," I said dully.

A stern look replaced the happy one.

"James, humour me, just for today, and _talk to your father_..."

"Okay, okay, I'll go," I said, feeling irritated that she'd brought him up, that the mention of him had killed my happiness. "See you later, Mum. Don't gush about me too much in your report."

My mood brightened again once I reached Level Seven, and Rose, who worked here and had clearly been lying in wait for me, dashed out of an office on the left and flung her arms around my neck.

"Well done, James!" she said. "You can get me free tickets now..."

"Dream on," I grinned, ruffling her hair. "Cheers, Rosie."

She directed me to the office I needed, the administration office for the England Quidditch squad. On the way I passed Ireland's office – they too were administrated by the British Ministry. The door was ajar, and I could hear Ryan's voice floating through the doorway. I resisted the temptation to stop here to tell him my news. I didn't want to disturb their team chat, no matter how informal it was. I'd have time later to talk to him.

Cleo was the first person to spot me when I reached the England office and hovered in the doorway. She looked happy to see me, but not surprised, which suggested she'd already been told I'd made the squad.

"James!" She got to her feet and approached me. "Well done, I knew you'd make it!"

The others looked round on hearing her greeting. They were all there already: Cato, Emily and Michael Wood, Tamsin, McLaggen, Gregory Ellis, Rosalie Birch, and Gemma Deans and the fantastically-named Archibald Tromburg, Keeper and Seeker respectively, who played for the Wimbourne Wasps. All of them approached to congratulate me on my inclusion, even McLaggen – though I assumed that was because he felt it would be too obvious if he _didn't_; certainly his wasn't the most convincing of greetings.

"Nice one, mate," Cato grinned, and slapped my back; I hid a wince. "Good to have some fellow Falcon blood in the camp."

There was something oddly pleasing about his comment. Players had once had strong loyalties to one club, but this had diminished over the years, with players moving for various reasons, often financial or purely to get games. It was only my third season with the Falcons, but already I felt certain I'd never want to leave. Anyone who wore the team colours and didn't put in their all for the club, didn't deserve to wear them in my eyes. Our previous Beaters had been guilty of this very crime, so hearing Cato refer to himself as a Falcon so proudly was a good sign.

The greeting from Tamsin was especially nice.

"Thank you so much," I said as she approached me last. I was referring to her presence at the Pride match, and the feedback – presumably good –that she had given Demelza.

"Thank _you_." She beamed at me. "I was _so_ worried for the first ten minutes or so that I wouldn't get away with telling Demelza to pick you ... where you pulled that performance from, I have _no_ idea, but I was _so_ happy when you did!"

Coming from one of the best Chasers England had ever seen, this was huge praise, and I could barely hide my smile.

And the moment was topped off when Ryan snuck in to congratulate me.

"Junior!" he cried, practically jumping onto my shoulders in jubilation. "I told you you'd get the call!"

"Get out of our office, Murphy!" Emily said, but she was grinning.

"Ah, lighten up, Wood." He ruffled her hair. "I hope you're prepared; Jimmy's come on leaps and bounds since we all played together for Gryffindor all those years ago."

"Yeah; he's your team's best Chaser now, isn't he?" She grinned cheekily at him.

"I expect he'll take your spot for England?" he quipped in return.

"We'll beat you regardless of who we field. Don't you go worrying about our selection issues, worry about your own performance, Murph," she bounced back.

The door opened again, and Demelza finally appeared.

"Morning, guys!" she said, looking round the room at her assembled players. "Congratulations on making the squad – Murphy, what on earth are you doing in here?" she added, doing a double-take as she spotted him.

"Espionage work," he grinned. "Sorry, I just nipped in to chat to James. I'll leave you to have your top-secret tactic discussion. This is a good squad you've got; we're all quaking in our boots next door!"

"Is that a genuine comment or are the tactics coming out already?" Demelza said dubiously.

"I'll let you figure that out," he said, heading for the door.

"In that case, your squad is looking pretty mediocre," she retorted, poker-faced.

He grinned, and left the office, shutting the door behind him.

"Bloody menace," she muttered, shaking her head. "They're all the same, those Irish players. Anyway!" She clapped her hands, and looked around at us. "As I was saying, well done on making the squad, all of you, and welcome to James, our newest squad member. You're all here because you've worked hard over the past few years, you've played well, and you've done yourselves proud. You're the best that England has, and I'm sure you won't let the country down.

"But the hard work is by no means over; in fact, it's barely begun. We won't be training straight away; I'll let you have these two weeks off, because I think that's more valuable right now than putting you in training. I _will_ be calling you in for training during the next break, though, which will be the beginning of June. The Cup starts mid-July so that time will be crucial. And then, as soon as the League ends, it'll be straight into national training again. I might pull you all out of domestic team training and matches during June, but only if I think we need it. I'm well aware that would deplete four proud English teams of their best players, and I really don't want to do that."

This was one of the reasons why Sinead and the other Quidditch coaches liked Demelza so much. Of course, they realised England had to come first, but they tried their hardest to claw back as many club rights as possible. Having someone who saw the importance of the League in charge of international Quidditch certainly helped their case .

"Most of you have played for England before, but few of you have played on a stage as big as the World Cup before. It's good to have that experience here, obviously, but I don't pick people purely based on tournament experience. A lot of the time I don't actually think it's _needed_; you're all good enough to cope with playing at such a high level, or you wouldn't be here. But the thing you won't be used to is the media exposure. You may be household names in Britain by now, but by the end of this tournament, you may well be household names worldwide. People from all over the world will be tuning in; all eyes will be on you. And with that, comes a lot of media attention. A few of you may already be accustomed to this-" Her eyes flickered towards me, and I hid a grimace – "but most of you won't be. I urge you all to act with responsibility at all times. You are England players, and I will not have you bringing the game into disrepute in any way while representing the country. I don't want to have to release any of you from the squad, but I will if necessary."

The mood, which moments before had been jovial, was now very downbeat. Demelza's warning had unnerved us all – except for Tamsin and the Woods, who were old hands at this now.

"Anyway, enough of all of this doom and gloom!" Demelza clapped her hands together loudly. "That's me done; all that's left to do is sort out your immediate media responsibilities. I think your agents will be turning up in a few moments to sort out interviews, otherwise the moment you reach the Atrium you'll all be accosted by the press. James, if you could just come over here for a moment, we need to register you officially..."

Player registration wasn't as complicated as it seemed. Perhaps ironically, it was simpler at international level than at domestic level. The reason for this was simple. I was already registered by the Falcons, so all that was required was for this registration to be upped to international level, and it wasn't actually _that_ important. At domestic level, registration was required so as to prevent teams from playing people they weren't supposed to. Squads were made up of fourteen players, and teams were only allowed to exceed that if injury concerns or international call-ups prevented a full team from being fielded. This registration included all of my personal details, and generally enabled the Department for Magical Games and Sports to administrate the game with more ease. Because this personal information was already logged, my registration at this level merely meant signing an extra document, extending my eligibility to international level. Normally, Brigid dealt with such documents, but this one was so simplistic I was able to flick through it myself, before adding my signature to the bottom of the parchment.

And then I was an England player.

Of course, I hadn't played a game for them yet, and I wasn't sure if I _would_. But seeing my name on that official document, the ink of my signature still glistening in the light, made it feel so real, for the first time since I'd gotten that call from Demelza.

I nearly jumped a mile when someone snaked their arms round my middle, and I felt their light breath on my cheek.

"Well done, Jim!" Brigid whispered. She planted a quick kiss on my cheek before pulling away. Agents weren't necessarily expected to be completely removed from their clients – or she wouldn't have gone on the date with Cato in the first place – but they _were_ expected to be independent from the Quidditch teams. Brigid's professional relationship with her mother had already irked enough agents; it was better if she didn't flaunt our friendship in front of them.

Especially given that Cato and Cleo had left one of the agents who managed most of the English squad at the same time they'd left the Wasps and he was there, shooting resentful looks across the room at us, despite being surrounded by his charges. He'd tried to nab me after my first full season, but I'd rejected the offer in a trice.

"Well done, guys." Brigid smiled at the twins as they joined us. Her smile lingered on Cato for a split second, and I wondered if she really did like him and was just fearful of risking their professional relationship.

"As you'd expect, everyone downstairs wants a piece of you – especially you, James," she added, slightly awkwardly, as though she felt as awkward as I did about the fact I was undoubtedly top billing with the press, regardless of the others' Quidditch achievements. "So, we need to share you around. The _Prophet_ get you all first, of course. James, the editor wanted your mum to interview you, but I quashed that one straight off. So you're with their Deputy Quidditch Correspondent, Deirdre..."

I winced. Deirdre was a _very_ good journalist – because she knew what questions to ask. Sometimes this was good; she was _very_ knowledgeable about the game. But sometimes these questions were more personal. I'd been interviewed by her once before, and some of her questions had had me squirming in my seat.

"...then _Quidditch Weekly_ want a chat, and _Which Broomstick?_ want to know all about how your Firebolt has helped you get to where you are. Then _Witch Weekly_ want a chat – humour me, James, just this once, and don't try to argue with me on this one," she added as I made to object. "I think the _Quibbler_ wouldn't mind an interview from you too; that would be nice for them, don't you think? I can't stick around with you for them, I'm afraid – after you guys I need to see my Scottish players – but I'm sure you'll get on just fine by yourself, you should be an expert at them by now! You can nip down now, no need to wait up here any longer..."

I left, but reluctantly. Just because I'd done a lot of interviews, didn't mean I liked them. I'd always relied on Brigid being there with me, to help me out if I wasn't sure how best to answer a question. Without her, I was concerned I might slip up, especially with the _Prophet_ interview first up.

The Department of Magical Games and Sports was a hive of activity. When arriving, Rose had marshalled me though the corridors, so I'd managed to avoid everybody, but it was impossible to do the same on my way out. I kept my head down as I made my way towards the clunky lifts, not wanting anyone to talk to me. Nevertheless, people still approached me, all congratulating me on my inclusion, which had apparently been a 'sure thing'. It seemed as though I'd been the least confident about my chances of actually making the squad.

The lift was even worse. I'd managed to find one with a couple of Aurors in it, and they crowded me the moment the doors opened, congratulating me heartily, and talking about the time we'd first met, at some fancy function Mum and Dad had taken me, Al and Lily to, years ago.

I didn't remember them.

They weren't the only ones there; four or five other witches and wizards were also using the lift and wanted to shake my hand, to individually congratulate me and assure me their money was on England to win the World Cup, now that I'd made the squad. I didn't often feel claustrophobic, but there was nothing I wanted more than to get out of the lift. Luckily, the Department for Magical Games and Sports was only one floor above the Atrium, so the journey wasn't a long one.

And then the lift reached the Atrium and the grille slid open, and all I wanted to do was to retreat back to the administration office.

There were people, and cameras, and flashbulbs, totally filling the Atrium, all pointed at me. The excited murmur of voices I'd been greeted with accelerated into an animated fever when the journalists and cameramen saw me. One of the other people in the lift nudged me forwards slightly; I numbly stepped forwards out of it, frozen for a moment by the sheer number of people.

I glanced round nervously and saw Deirdre, the _Prophet _correspondent who was to interview me. She, of course, had picked me in her 'squad'. The rest of the _Prophet_'s reporters were there too, along with the _Which Broomstick?_ reporter who'd interviewed me about the new Nimbus, and the journalist who'd interviewed me for the Christmas special of _Quidditch Weekly_ that I'd been on the cover of. The cameraman who'd taken the photos was there as well.

And then I saw Mum. She shot me a wink and a reassuring smile.

I could do this. Couldn't I?

I stood up straight, and with an air of confidence that belied the nerves within, I strode across the Atrium to where Deirdre was waiting for me.

Yes, I could do this.

She greeted me warmly as I reached her, as though we were more than mere acquaintances. I wasn't sure if this was how she treated everyone she interviewed, or just because she worked with my mother. Most people – like the Aurors in the lift – seemed to think that knowing my parents meant that they knew me. It irked me.

"Well done, James," she said. "There was no doubt you'd make the squad. I'd have picked you, as I'm sure you're aware-"

I nodded slightly.

The interview started off well enough. She asked me how I felt about having made the squad, and also how my season with the Falcons was going. Then she began treading on thin ice.

"Your family and friends must be delighted with the news?"

"I've not really talked to any of them yet," I said uneasily, "but yeah, I suppose they are."

"You must have seen your mother, though? She's also here, of course, interviewing for the _Prophet_ – have you spoken to her yet?"

"Yeah, I've chatted to her."

"And what did she say?" she pressed.

"That's between me and my mother," I said in clipped tones.

"Of course it is." She didn't sound at all abashed. "I spoke to her myself earlier, she seems absolutely delighted. She picked you in her squad, of course, but you'll already know that-"

"I didn't, actually," I said without thinking. I tried – and failed – to stop a smile from spreading across my face. _Mum would have picked me_. The thought filled me with happiness.

Of course, Deirdre's next question brought me back down to earth with a thump.

"You must be glad, that you've eclipsed her achievements?"

I frowned.

"What do you mean?" I asked sharply.

"Well, your mother never played for England, did she? I'd imagine it must be hard, following in her footsteps, so it must please you to have gotten further than her..."

The comment irked me.

"My mother _chose_ not to play for England," I snapped. "She didn't want to travel all over the world; she wanted to settle down with my father instead. And there are countless women across the country who were inspired to play Quidditch because of her. I don't think my selection has eclipsed her career at all."

Deirdre didn't so much as bat an eyelid at this comment. Instead, she carried on in full flow.

"How about your girlfriend? I expect she's pleased about your selection-"

"What girlfriend? I don't _have_ a girlfriend."

"Our showbiz reporters have seen you with a pretty Muggle girl countless times. You can't possibly have missed their speculation as to who she is? Perhaps you'd like to enlighten us?"

I _could_ quite possibly have missed the speculation, given that I always avoided the gossip sections of the _Prophet_; I only ever read the back pages.

"She's not my girlfriend," I said firmly. "She's just a friend-"

"She must be a _very_ good friend if she knows about magic," Deirdre pressed. "She's been seen at several Quidditch matches, you know-"

I snapped. Fed up with the incessant questioning – I could _deal_ with questions about Quidditch perfectly fine, but these people had no right to ask about my personal life – I stormed off, not bothering to answer the question. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Mum breaking off her own interview with Michael Wood, making as if to approach me, but I strode towards the fireplaces, seething with anger.

I didn't care what Brigid said; I wasn't going to do any of my other stupid interviews.

And I didn't care about what Mum said either. I wasn't going to visit Dad upstairs.

He probably wouldn't care anyway.

I Apparated into my living room, relieved to have escaped the melee.

Then, with some surprise, I noticed that Carlotta was standing in the middle of the room. I couldn't stop the smile from spreading across my face; if there was anyone I wanted to see right now, it was her.

"Guess who got called into the England squad?" I said, the euphoria of being chosen for the squad bubbling up again now that the resentment of the media was dying away.

But my grin faltered as I looked at her properly. She had an angry look on her face and an _Daily Prophet_ in her hand.

"I know," she said shortly. "I read it in the paper." She paused, unfolding it. "Tell me, James; what do they mean by the "boy who lived"?"


	27. twenty-seven

I felt the colour draining from my face.

"I – what do you mean?"

Carlotta cleared her throat, and turned to the paper.

"'_England Head Coach Demelza Robins has included Chaser James Potter in her squad for the Quidditch World Cup, which was announced this morning. Potter has been in spectacular form for the Falmouth Falcons this season, leading to calls from several ex-Quidditch players for him to be elevated into the national squad._' It goes on," she said, raising her eyes back to me, "to mention everyone else who's made the squad. But that's not what caught my eye. You see, there's a player profile on you. It's bigger than the main article. Want to hear it?"

I didn't answer, knowing that she was going to read it aloud anyway; knowing that she had already read it, and was just stringing out the confrontation. My intestines felt like they were tying themselves into knots as she turned back to the paper.

"'_James Potter is no stranger to our households, and as such will need no introduction. His mother is written into Quidditch legend as one of the best Chasers the game has seen, her lack of England caps only down to personal choice. But it is of course his father whose name is known worldwide. If Ginevra Potter is part of Quidditch legend, then Harry has pretty much single-handedly written wizarding legend thanks to his noble defeat of the Dark Lord Voldemort. Parents the world over are indebted to him for providing enough bedtime stories for their children to ensure that none has to be repeated – although this writer's childrens' favourite recital, that of his dramatic break into and escape from the wizarding bank Gringotts with a dragon, is requested at least three times a month._

"'_With that pedigree, it was almost a certainty that eldest son James would make it to the top, and this call-up cements his place in the upper echelons of wizarding society. __A good-looking, charismatic young man, Potter has been at the forefront of domestic Quidditch almost since his breakthrough season, two years ago. Even in his first match, alongside names such as Adelheid Brand and against the likes of Tamsin Robins, James shone, giving us a tantalising glimpse of what was to come from him. Since then, his star has been on the rise, and a stunning League victory with the Falcons last year capped off a marvellous start to a career predicted for him by some, including this writer, from the very day he was born._

"'_It should of course come as no surprise to any of us that Potter is soon to don England colours. His days at Hogwarts were well documented, in particular his remarkable prowess on a broomstick, which saw him make his house team not quite as one of the youngest players ever – that record is partly held by his father, who made the Gryffindor team at just eleven years old – but nevertheless at his first try-out, as a Second Year up against students much older. From there on young James shone, contributing towards a remarkable six consecutive Quidditch Cup victories for Gryffindor, the last two as captain (the house has continued this streak since his departure, with cousin Hugo Weasley currently captaining the team towards a near-certain ninth straight Cup win). Not just content with being a success on the pitch, James also produced excellent results off it, with top grades in his O. and N.E. , as might be expected given his parents' academic abilities._

"'_Of course, James was not a completely rule-abiding student – again, following in the footsteps of his parents before him, who were often in detentions for rule-breaking such as loitering in the corridors after curfew. While James' own rule-breaking never amounted to running an illegal study group or flying an illegally bewitched car into a Whomping Willow, he still provoked the frustration of his teachers – and admiration of his schoolmates – through numerous pranks and hijinks, along with several night-time trips to the nearby village of Hogsmeade._

"'_Ambitious from the start, James was signed straight out of school by Falmouth Falcons coach and former Ireland Chaser Sinead Moran, who is well known for her willingness to gamble on raw talent. But this signing was far from a gamble, as James' success at this level was a near guarantee. After all, who could expect any less from the eldest son of the well-known Dark Lord slayer, the Boy Who Lived?'"_

My stomach had been twisting and convulsing right through the article. With its conclusion, I let out a small sigh of relief.

Carlotta folded the paper up and threw it onto the sofa, then crossed her arms. I licked my lips nervously. My stomach was still unsettled.

"So, let's get this straight," she said. "The _Prophet_ seems to think that your dad killed this Voldemort guy. Now, either they've got it _very_ wrong, or you lied to me when you said there was nothing more I needed to know about Muggle persecution. I appreciate we may have differing opinions on what I do and don't need to know, but I'd say that your dad effectively saving the wizarding world is pretty damn big."

"I-" I hesitated. "Look, I know you're annoyed I didn't tell you, and maybe I should have, but I really don't see how it's _that_ big an issue. Does it change anything? Does it change who he is, or who I am, to you?"

"How can you say that?" she cried. "Just reading that article suggests that your dad has done incredible things in his lifetime, and you didn't even consider telling me about them! That doesn't just disrespect me, that disrespects him-"

"No, it doesn't!" I pleaded, desperate for her to see my point of view. "You _didn't need to know_! It's not relevant to ... to _this_! To us!" I gestured at the space in between us. "Look, I knew this would freak you out, that's why I didn't tell you. I knew you'd think it to be bigger than it is-"

"Bigger than it is," she repeated dully. "Yes, clearly I'm _overexaggerating_. Clearly, the fact that your father is this aforementioned Dark Lord slayer, who – what was it?" She grabbed the paper from the chair, and rifled through it to find the article – "Broke into a bank, commandeered a _dragon_, ran an illegal study group, flew a car and pretty much single-handedly wrote modern wizarding history, isn't a big thing. In fact, it's clearly not an achievement at all!"

"Carlotta, I-"

"MY PICTURE IS IN YOUR PAPER!" she exploded, holding it out at me.

With a particularly strong twinge in my gut, I saw that the _Prophet_ had dedicated half a page to a picture of the two of us leaving the Tav, above an article entitled 'James Potter's Muggle flame: The secret behind his Quidditch success?' The sight of this latest media speculation, coupled with Deirdre's questions from earlier, fuelled me with an anger I'd never felt before.

"I'm in a national fucking _newspaper_, James!" Her chest heaved as she spoke and she threw the paper away contemptuously. "They know my _name_, they know where I _work_ ... and you thought you could keep all this quiet from me?"

"I wasn't trying to keep it quiet from you!" I snapped. "There was never the right moment-"

"Oh, really? How about that time your dear brother let it slip that a bloke _killed Muggles_, and I asked you if there was anything else you had to tell me? You're telling me _that_ wasn't the 'right moment'?"

And then I lost what little composure I'd had left.

"What, so I was meant to tell you that actually, my father is a really famous man, and that most people only ever give me the time of day because of what he did? That time I met you in the Tav, I was trying to _get away_ from it all! Because I'm sick of it, completely sick and tired of it! All my life, I've been judged by who he is. People expect me to achieve everything he has; if I fail to do so, I'm not good enough to be his son, and if I _do_ manage, it's still nothing special, because he's done it before. Even now, when I've been called into the England squad, it's not about me, it's about _him_, and how playing for England is really nothing compared with killing a few Dark Lords here and there. You read the article! My player profile ... it refers to _him_, all the time! It's all just one big fat comparison between us; how he played for Gryffindor at a younger age than I did; how he managed to break the rules more impressively than I did. His academic abilities? He never even took his N.E. ! _I_ beat him on that one, but they don't mention that!

"It's always been like this; I've lived my whole life in his shadow, with all this pressure on my shoulders. Al's suffered the same. Everyone expected so much of me, just because of what Dad's done. And Mum having played profession Quidditch doesn't help either. That's just _more_ pressure. I'm expected to achieve _everything_, and what I don't achieve, Al's expected to. I don't know which one of us is worse off. And then there's Lily..." I laughed bitterly.

"She got off scot-free. She was set to have twice the expectations on her that we had, purely because she's a _girl_ – and then she turned out to be a Squib. She's _already_ achieved more than any of the rest of us, purely by not having magic. She's more or less completely escaped it all; everyone _loves_ her because she's a Squib. And she gets completely left alone; she's not hounded at all. Heck, the _Prophet_ didn't even realise her A grades were good until they consulted the Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts. The fact she's just gotten on with it, and turned what people thought was a bad thing into a good thing ... they love her. She can't do wrong. She's left alone to do her own thing – because how can she possibly become an Auror like Dad, or do what he did? It's logistically impossible for her, and people recognise that and leave her alone. But Al and me? Well, we've got magic, right? Which means we can do everything Dad did, and we should be able to do it easily. And when we can't, it's not because we're _different_ to him, it's because we're failures in their eyes. It doesn't matter that there _is_ no Dark Lord to defeat; we should be able to overcome that, right?

"You know, when I first went to Hogwarts, I was so excited. And when everyone seemed to want to be my friend, I thought it was great. I'd be the most popular person at school! But they didn't give a damn about _me_. All they cared was that I was Harry Potter's son. So I learned the hard way how fickle people can be. I became so cynical, assuming anyone who wanted anything to do with me was just interested in the name.

"The only people I could rely on those first few weeks at school were my cousins. Brigid was one of the few people who _didn't_ care about my fame. She's been through the same as me; she's one of the only people who can truly understand what it's like. Her mum is a Quidditch _legend_; she's won countless World Cups for Ireland. And Brie's grown up with that pressure on her shoulders, just as I have. Aside from my family, she and her brother were two of a handful of people who didn't want to know me for my fame, who didn't judge me for my father, who _sympathised_ with me. That's why she's one of my best friends now. Because she cares about me for who _I_ am, not who Dad is. When I'm with her, or with Freddie, or with Al, or _you_, that's the only time I can escape from it all. Everyone else expects me to be like Dad, when I'm _not_.

"Do you know the worst bit about it? I tried flunking my N.E. . I thought, if I fail them all, get Ts in them all, maybe people will _finally_ realise that I'm _not_ him. And I couldn't even do _that_ properly! I got all Os and Es. I should have failed them. I _know_ I failed them. I barely revised, my written papers were awful. But the examiners handed me good grades anyway! And I can't even do anything about that, because what would it suggest about Al's results? He _deserves_ the grades he's got. He _should_ have all Os, because he's worked his ass off for them. But if I tell people I was given those grades unfairly, they'll assume he was too, and that's not fair on him. He doesn't deserve to suffer even more.

"And then there's all the attention from the girls. _Great_, except none of them give a damn about me for who I am either. They don't even care that I'm a famous Quidditch player most of the time, and that's even worse; I'm not even being used for fame I've earned! Surely I deserve to be known for being a Quidditch player, for something _I've_ achieved by myself? But no. I'm Harry Potter's son, and that's all that matters to anyone. The only girl who _did_ care about more than just the name got chased away by the media and my best friend. That's why I don't do relationships, and why I don't want to settle down with anyone, because I _can't_. That's ... that's what makes _you_ so different to everyone else! You didn't have a clue about anything Dad's done, or even anything I've done, and for the first time in ages it felt like someone cared about me for who _I_ am, not for who Dad is, or for my Quidditch fame, and I just wanted it to _stay_ that way."

I finally finished, and took a deep breath, already wishing I hadn't spouted out all I had. I knew I'd said far too much.

There was a pregnant pause, before she spoke.

"Did you _honestly_ think I'd judge you any differently if you told me about your dad? Did you really think that little of me, that I'd change my opinion of you, try to leech off his fame, or try to mould you into him-"

"It's not like that!" I pleaded. "I knew – I _know_ – that to you it doesn't matter as much. But ... look, the only other people I've met who've been able to get to know me purely for who I am, without the faintest inkling of Dad's fame, are Kit and Maddie. And I _liked_ that, I..."

"So, you hooked up with me because I _didn't_ know about him. You _used_ me-"

"No!" I cried. "I went to the Tav because _nobody_ there knew about him! Della had just done this interview, and she was talking about me, comparing me to my parents, and I was annoyed, and wanted to get away from it! I hooked up with _you_ because you caught my eye, and I kept going back because I _liked_ you! Then you found out about magic, and you freaked out, and then you came back, but all the time I _liked_ you! I like just spending time with you! Yeah, I liked that you didn't know about any of this, but that doesn't mean I _used_ you! If I was using you, would I have tried so hard to help you accept magic? Would I have worked so hard to help you to see the Quidditch pitch? No! I did it all because I like you for who you are inside. At first, it was because you treated me like a normal person, but it's more than just that now-"

"If you really liked me so much, you'd have told me!" she persevered.

"I didn't want to tell you!" I said loudly. "Okay? I didn't want you knowing my dad is this all-powerful hero of the wizarding world and that I'm his biggest let-down! You wanted to know why I don't talk to him? Because I've _disappointed_ him. Because he didn't want me to do the whole Quidditch thing, because he thought it was the easy way out, that it was my way of _avoiding_ hard work. And I _hate_ him for it! It's his fault, it's all his fucking fault that I have to put up with all of this every day, and he doesn't even care about it! All he gives a fig about is Lily, and making sure that she's happy and successful, and making sure that Al's Auror training is going well. Me? I'm his _disappointment_. It's all I've ever been, and it's all I'll ever be."

She was shaking her head dumbly. "I-"

"You _still_ think I should have told you all this before?" I said venomously. "Are you happy, now that you know?"

"I can't believe you kept it from me..." she began quietly.

"Why? Because it makes things _different_? If I'd have told you this at first, would it have changed the way you saw me?" I snapped.

"If you'd have told me this at first, then I never would have gotten involved in this stupid fling!" she retorted.

A ringing silence fell upon the flat. For a moment, I had no words; I just stared at her, dumbstruck.

"Well," I said finally, seething with anger – at her, at Dad, at Lily and her special treatment, at Deirdre from the _Prophet_, at my school examiners, at _Brigid_ – "if that's how it is, then I wouldn't want to _keep_ you involved in this stupid fling for any longer than necessary."

She snatched up her bag, looking just as furious.

"I'd like to see you try to _keep_ me anywhere," she replied angrily, heading past me towards the door. "Don't worry, I'll show myself out."

She slammed the door loudly as she left.

"Don't worry, it's not as though I want my door left on the fucking hinges!" I yelled after her, breathing heavily.

I kicked the leg of the coffee table angrily, and the photo of Lily and Brigid caught my eye. I picked it up, my lip curling, and threw it across the room with all my might. The glass frame smashed into hundreds of pieces.

And then my phone rang.

I glared at it, resisting the urge to set it on fire, but eventually picked it up.

"Hey, buddy, well done!" It was Freddie. My anger subsided slightly. "Let's have a drink later to celebrate, eh? If you _can_ drink now you're important. Boys' night out! I'll let you buy; you'll be rolling in dough after this!"

I smiled ever so slightly.

"Yeah," I said, "that sounds good."

"Cracking! I'll pop round yours in a bit then, shall I? Where are we going? I suppose you'll want to go to the Tav-"

"No," I said firmly. "We'll go to the Hinky tonight."

I'd had enough of the Witch's Tavern to last a lifetime.

* * *

><p>"Hey, James."<p>

I turned and saw Allegra Fawcett sliding onto the bar stool next to mine.

"Hi." I swung round to face her. "You look..." She crossed her legs and my eyes were drawn to them. "You look nice."

She let out a slight giggle.

"Thanks," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Congratulations on your call up, you really deserve it."

"Cheers." I paused. "Can I buy you a drink?"

She eyed me suspiciously.

"Don't you have a girlfriend?"

I resisted the urge to scowl.

"No," I said firmly. "No, I don't. So, want that drink?"

She smiled; I had a sudden urge to kiss the dimple that appeared.

"Alright," she said. The strand of hair fell back in front of her face. I reached forwards to tuck it back behind her ear, and felt her light breath on my cheek.

"On second thoughts," I murmured, "do you want to skip the drink and go back to mine?"


	28. twenty-eight

I remembered what had happened in dribs and drabs when I woke up.

The first thing I remembered was that I'd made the England squad.

_I was in the England squad_. I savoured the memory for a moment or so, letting a smile spread across my face.

And then I remembered Deirdre the bitch journalist, and the smile fell from my face. I stared up at the ceiling, the fury beginning to bubble away in the pit of my stomach as I thought of her incessant questioning.

And then the body next to me stirred, and only then did I even register that there was somebody in bed next to me – and then came the uncomfortable jolt as the face that turned to look at me, framed by flaming red curls, _wasn't_ Carlotta's, and then I remembered the argument, and _everything_, and the anger I felt towards Carlotta nearly tipped me over the edge.

"Morning," Allegra said with a smile, one that used to give me butterflies but now just left me feeling stone cold. "How does it feel to wake up as an England player?"

_That_ tipped me over the edge.

"Get out," I snapped, sitting up abruptly, seeing red as I realised that I'd been duped, that clearly all Allegra had wanted was a chance to say she'd slept with an England player, that once more I'd been well and truly used for the fame.

"What?" She sat up too, staring at me with a stunned expression on her face.

"You heard me," I said shortly. "I said get out. That can't be hard to understand, even for someone like you."

"Someone like me? You've clearly spent too much time with Cassie Lynch, if you're confusing me with the likes of her," she said bitterly, getting to her feet. "And if _that's_ the kind of opinion that you have of me, then I'll gladly leave."

I said nothing, just glared at her as she got dressed.

"I suppose I'm showing myself out, given that you're showing no signs of moving," she continued, wrapping her jacket round her shoulders. She made as if to leave, but paused, her hand on the handle of the bedroom door, and turned to look back at me.

"You know, I used to think you were decent, a genuinely nice guy. A _gentleman_. Now I see you're just like everyone else. Do you suddenly think you're a big thing now that you're an England player or something? I think you need a fucking reality check, Potter. Maybe take some lessons from your brother on how to actually treat a lady."

And then she left, slamming the door behind her. Moments later, I heard the flat door slam shut in a similar fashion. I fell back onto my pillows and lay there for a moment, stunned at the outburst that had come from the quiet, easy-going, ex-Hufflepuff, whom I'd never heard so much as raise her voice to anyone before. If it had been anyone else, I might have had a retort to hand, but to Allegra I had had no reply.

After a few moments, the sound of the owl trying to deliver the _Prophet_ roused me from bed. I hauled myself out of bed and into the kitchen to let it in and pay it. The moment I dropped the Knuts into the pouch on its leg, it hooted loudly and flew off. I scowled at the noise, shutting the window and then turning to the paper.

And then I wished that I hadn't.

My face was emblazoned across the front of the paper, along with the headline '_James Potter storms out of Ministry_'.

I scanned through the article, and several phrases jumped out at me; '_shirked media responsibilities_' ... '_bigheaded_' ... '_out of touch_' ... '_ungrateful_' ... '_possible relationship troubles with his Muggle girlfriend_'...

I let out a loud roar of frustration, screwing the paper up into a ball and throwing it angrily across the room. I took a few deep breaths to try to calm myself down.

This day was _not_ proving to be one of my best.

I'd barely had time to get dressed before my next predicament arrived, in the shape of an irate Brigid.

"What do you _think_ you were playing at?" she demanded without so much as a greeting, brandishing a second copy of the blasted _Prophet_ in my face. "Did you think you could just throw a hissy fit and walk out the moment things stopped going the way you wanted? You're in the public eye, James, you have to _behave_! You can't just go pulling stupid stunts like this-"

I never liked it when Brigid had a go at me. But this day, of all days, I sure as hell wasn't going to lie down and let her shout at me.

"Did _you_ not think to tell me about _this_?" I snatched up yesterday's edition of the paper, still open at the story about Carlotta, and held it up in turn.

She looked slightly taken aback.

"I-"

"Maybe, before you start giving out about me not doing my media responsibility bullshit properly, _you_ should start advising me about it properly! That's what you're meant to do, isn't it?" I raged. I didn't care if I was being harsh, that I was unleashing all of my anger from the past two days on her.

"I didn't realise..."

"You _didn't realise_," I mocked her. "Isn't that your _job_? Shouldn't you be _telling_ me all of this? Shouldn't you be monitoring the press stories about me, telling me about them, making sure you limit the damage caused by them? Maybe _you_ should be thinking more about doing _your_ job, rather than spending all your time moaning and griping at me and shagging half your clients!"

She looked like I'd just slapped her round the face.

"How dare you," she said coldly, her voice trembling ever so slightly. "How _dare_ you suggest I don't know how to do my job! Do you have any idea how much I work compared to you? I sort out all of your media commitments and your public appearances and your charity endorsements, not to mention the other fifty people I work for, and meanwhile you get to sit on your ass all day doing fuck all! Where the hell do you think you have the right to tell me off for not noticing one little story?"

"Little story? _Carlotta's picture is in our paper_! And you didn't know! You didn't bother to check what the media was saying about me; what the hell was I supposed to do when that Deirdre idiot asked me about her yesterday? If you'd done your job properly you'd have known that they'd cottoned onto her and I could have had some warning about it!"

She just stared at me for a moment, seemingly lost for words. Unfortunately, that didn't last long.

"Let me get this straight," she said slowly, venomously. "_You_ got with a Muggle. _You_ let said Muggle find out about our world. _You_ broke the Statute of Secrecy and you have the audacity to blame _me_ when the _Prophet_ finds out about it?" She let out a hollow laugh. "Oh, that really _is_ rich, James. What the hell kind of planet are you on right now? You're not fucking invincible, you know! I told you that this would be a bad idea from the start, and now you'll have to deal with the consequences. And don't go thinking I'm going to just get you out of this mess with a little press release. Because I can't do my job properly, remember? You're on your own on this one, Potter. And let me get this straight, too. You _dare_ to walk out on another media commitment, and I'm through with you. I'm sick and tired of you thinking you can manipulate me like this because we're friends. Well, newsflash, _you can't_. You will do the interviews that I promise journalists they can have, and if you don't like it then you can bloody well find someone else, because I've just about _had_ it with you right now."

And, for the third time in less than twenty-four hours, an angry female stormed out of my flat with an almighty slam of the door. Cordelia let out a loud chirp from her cage, and I glared at her.

"What?" I snapped. "Have you got a problem with me as well? Do you want to let it out on my front door like everyone else seems to be doing?"

I scowled and stormed back into my kitchen, checking all my cupboards for food. I found a bottle of Butterbeer in one, and took it off the shelf – and paused.

There was a bottle of Heidelberg mead behind it.

It was still only mid-morning, but I didn't give a damn. It wasn't as though I was meant to be doing anything today, anyway.

I replaced the Butterbeer, and took out the bottle of mead instead. I uncapped it and headed back into the living room to drink it. I contemplated putting the Quidditch network on, but quickly changed my mind; if their news was anything like the _Prophet_'s this morning, I didn't want to hear it.

So instead, I watched a Muggle film.

And then another.

And then I rang Freddie and told him we were going back to the Hinky.

* * *

><p>"You shouldn't let her get to you, mate," he reasoned that night. "You know what she's like; you know how angry she gets if she thinks you're not pulling your weight-"<p>

"What, so _you_ think I'm not putting the work in as well, do you?" I cut in angrily.

He raised his hands, pleading innocence.

"I didn't say that at all. I'm just saying, that's her view on things. If I were you, I'd have done the same thing with the interview." He paused. "I hear you hooked up with Fawcett last night."

I scowled at the thought of Allegra.

"What happened with the Muggle?"

"She has a name," I said firmly, menacingly. "And she took offence at being talked about in the bloody paper."

"Really?" Freddie looked bemused. "Surely she should have expected that?"

It was by no means the full story. But I didn't want to relive it; I'd done that enough in my head all day.

"So, is Fawcett the new flavour of the month, then?" he continued.

"Probably not, given the way she spoke to me this morning."

"Why, didn't she like the way you cooked her eggs for her?" he joked.

But that just made me think of Carlotta, teaching me how to cook breakfast.

"Want another drink?" I asked Freddie, digging some Galleons out of my pocket.

"You know me; never one to say no to a beverage bought by someone else."

"Wine or rum?" I asked, glancing at the wall at the back of the bar.

He looked dubious.

"Neither of those sounds like a massively good idea..."

"Oh, don't be a wuss," I said with a roll of my eyes.

"I'd rather just have another Firewhisky if it's all the same to you-"

"I'm not buying you Firewhisky," I said flatly. "Come on; you're beginning to sound like Molly."

That was enough to snap him out of it.

"Alright, wine," he said begrudgingly. "But when I feel like hell tomorrow, it's your damn fault."

"Man up," I said lightly.

"Just promise me one thing, James," he said, as a bar tender made his way to us. "_Don't_ get with Cassie Lynch tonight. I saw her earlier, and she looked like she was interested."

I snorted.

"You've got nothing to worry about, Freddie," I reassured him. "I don't plan on going anywhere near her tonight."

In fairness, it wasn't all that often that I listened to Freddie's advice. Most of the time one was better off steering clear of it.

But I had to admit to myself, as I woke up in the morning to find myself next to a familiar blonde head of hair, that every now and again he did talk sense.

And currently, common sense was remarkably absent from my life.


	29. twenty-nine

I didn't hear from Brigid the next day. Or the day after that. When I hadn't heard from her by the end of the week, I knew that this time she was really pissed off.

I heard from family members, who rang me at varying times during the week to congratulate me. Aunt Audrey was the first, on Wednesday night – "I'd have rung you earlier, but I thought you might be busy with your media commitments and wouldn't want your old aunt getting in the way".

She didn't mention the _Prophet_ article.

Victoire, unfortunately, _did_.

"What on earth happened on Monday?" was the first thing she said when I answered the phone. "I've had my colleagues asking me if you've got anger issues! James, that really doesn't look good, you know."

"Have you just rung me to moan at me?" I grumbled.

"Of course not! Congratulations, Teddy and I are so proud of you. But you really need to make sure that you don't do things like this, because you _know_ the papers will pick up on them and they make you look bad!"

Her talk went on for a good five minutes; I didn't listen to most of it, and was relieved when she had to stop mid-rant and end the call because Dora had just been sick.

Rose was just as disapproving.

"You're lucky that I've told Mum not to get on your case," she said to me. She had her righteous voice on, a tone that I was used to as she often used it when talking to me. "That was stupid, James. Couldn't you have just stuck it out? Just told her you didn't want to answer the question? You've made yourself look like an-"

I hadn't hung up on Victoire, because I had a lot of respect for her. That, and she was married to Teddy, who aside from anything else would probably be after my blood if I dared put the phone down on his wife.

With Rose, I wasn't so fussed, and I ended her rant before she'd gotten into full steam.

Uncle George and Aunt Angelina didn't bother to ring me, but instead sent me a huge hamper of Wheezes merchandise – an infinitely better show of their approval. Likewise, I received a congratulations card from Lily, Maddie and Kit, which included a note from Lily apologising for the fact that they couldn't see me in person, as they were all busy with schoolwork. I didn't mind; I knew that she too would have found a way of steering conversation round to my hot-headed moment at the Ministry.

I didn't hear from Dad at all. I wasn't really all that surprised, though I _was_ disappointed all the same. I'd hoped that this would be a big enough achievement for him, that he would find himself unable to ignore something as impressive as making the England squad. Unfortunately, I was proved wrong. The most I got was a hastily-scribbled note from Mum, scolding me for my behaviour but reiterating that she and Dad were hugely proud of me. It wasn't enough to convince me.

The only other person aside from Brigid who I didn't hear from one way or another, was the only person who I truly wanted to hear from.

I'd felt certain that Carlotta would see sense once she'd had a chance to calm down, that she would come to see me, to tell me that she hadn't meant what she'd said. But as the week passed, it became more and more clear that she had no intention of getting in touch.

I knew that I shouldn't let it bother me. But I couldn't help but let it, and that in itself got me riled. Did she honestly not give a damn at all? In fact, the more I mulled it over, the angrier I got. And I couldn't help but think about it every time I was left alone to my thoughts and my stash of Firewhisky.

And so, by the end of the week, I was once more on the phone to Freddie, trying to get him to go to the Hinky with me again. I figured that I needed a distraction, and this was the best thing I could think of.

"Just promise me that you won't pull Lynch again," he said wryly. "I tried to stop you the other day-"

I frowned slightly as I recalled the morning after that night, when I'd unceremoniously booted Cassie out of my bed for a second time. It was clearly becoming a habit with us.

"I could tell," I responded dryly to Freddie now, distinctly recalling his attention being diverted by Allegra's friend Mindy not long after he'd dished out his 'advice'.

It was his fault I'd ended up with Cassie again, I thought slightly resentfully. He'd known full well that I'd been in a fragile state of mind, and instead of stopping me from making a mistake, he'd decided to advance his own interests.

I didn't voice this opinion, not wanting to alienate my only current candidate for a night out – Al and Rose were a big no-no, Brigid didn't want to talk to me, I didn't fancy seeing any of my team and I didn't like the way that no girls gave me a second glance any time I went out with Louis.

I'd decided that I wasn't going to let myself hook up with any girls this time. For some reason, I didn't like the thought of Carlotta finding out about Allegra and Cassie, and so I really didn't want to add any more names to that list. Freddie seemed slightly scornful at the reasoning, but nevertheless avoided the girls himself while we were out.

It was all fine, until we were on our way back to my flat in the early hours of the morning. We headed out of Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron, onto Charing Cross Road. A group of girls were heading the other way along the road, towards us. I didn't recognise them at first, but as they came closer, and were lit up by the street light, my eyes fell on one of them and my stomach made an uncomfortable lurch as I realised it was Carlotta.

Her eyes fell on me – and then she looked away, completely ignoring me, and as they passed it was as though she had no idea who I was. I made as if to turn round and call after her, but Freddie took my arm and forcefully pulled me along, all the way back to my flat.

"She ignored me!" I burst out as soon as we were through the door. "Can you _believe_ it-"

"Maybe she's annoyed with you?" he suggested with a shrug. "You can't just go chasing after her down the street though, mate. If she doesn't want to talk to you, then you can't _force_ her to." He looked a bit bemused, admittedly. After all, he didn't know the full story, the proper reason why I'd managed to piss her off so much.

"But-" I had no idea what to say. I was annoyed, with both of them. I knew what I wanted to say to him – that I couldn't just let her walk away like that, that I needed to talk to her, to try to make her see reason, that I needed to just _see_ her – but I didn't know how to say it. He didn't understand, and I didn't know how I could make him.

So instead, I said nothing.

"Look, we always said that this wasn't really going to work out," he continued gently, clearly not wanting to anger me. "Maybe ... maybe you should just leave it, now. You weren't looking for a long-term thing anyway. This is just because you feel like you need to prove to the family that you weren't making a mistake by hooking up with a Muggle, but you don't need to do this. Just ... just leave it be. It's the best thing, for both of you."

I believed him. I really did.

But it still didn't stop her face from haunting my thoughts all night, once he'd left and I went to bed.

* * *

><p>I woke up the next morning with an odd sense of optimism. I wasn't sure where it had come from; perhaps my mind had processed Freddie's words while I'd been sleeping? But for whatever reason, the situation with Carlotta didn't seem so bad. In fact, I wondered how I'd managed to get myself into such a funk over the whole thing. After all, I was in the England squad, wasn't I? I'd achieved my ambition, the lofty goal that I'd set myself all those years ago, that I'd been striving to reach ever since. Was I really going to let some Muggle girl ruin my moment?<p>

It was a Saturday. The day I had breakfast with Mum. I decided to do something productive while waiting for her to arrive, so I tidied my flat. _That_ would please her to no end, and hopefully she would avoid the topic of Dad as a reward.

And then after breakfast, I would go to Brigid's and try to reason with her. She would surely see that she'd been harsh on me, that this wasn't my fault? After all, she knew that I hated the media responsibilities; she ought to have known that shoving so many interviews down my throat straight away would only be a bad thing. She'd had time to calm down; she would be able to see that she'd been at fault. I'd have to appease her, of course, by doing those interviews that I'd neglected on Monday – but that would be okay. I didn't mind talking to _Quidditch Weekly_, _Which Broomstick_? or even the _Quibbler_. The _Witch Weekly_ one wouldn't be so enjoyable, but I was sure that I could manage even _that_ one.

I was feeling positive. Today was going to be a _productive_ day.

And then the owl came.

_James_,

_I can't come for breakfast this morning. The editor wants me to do some World Cup media work. I'm sure that you'll be able to manage without me for one morning though!_

_Love, Mum_

_P.S. If you still want company for breakfast, I'm sure your father wouldn't say no to having a morning visitor._

By the end of the letter, I was struggling to read Mum's writing. It took a few moments for me to realise that this was because I couldn't focus on it; that I was shaking with rage, and the parchment in my hand was quivering like a leaf.

Mum had never missed Saturday breakfast with me, not in three years. It was an unwritten rule between her and her boss that she _never_ worked Saturday mornings. It was _our_ time. She was that busy during the rest of the week; it surely wasn't too much to ask?

Not to mention the fact that Mum always did my food shopping for me. What on earth did she think I was going to do without any food in my cupboards?

I screwed the parchment up into a ball and stuffed it into an objecting Cordelia's cage.

But it was the last line that had pissed me off the most, that remained etched into my brain. _I'm sure your father wouldn't say no to having a morning visitor._

Right now, I _hated_ my mother.

I couldn't call Freddie, because he was working in the shop. He didn't normally work on weekends. But now it was May, which meant that exams were imminent. This always coincided with a spike in Wheezes sales as students sought to find any light relief they could from the trials of studying. So Freddie would be hard at work today, and therefore unreachable.

So I did the thing that I'd been trying to avoid all week, and I rang Louis.

And the two of us spent all day and all night frequenting the numerous pubs and clubs in Diagon Alley.

I regretted it the next day, when the _Sunday Prophet_ was dedicated to a series of articles, with numerous photos, documenting the entire sorry affair.


	30. thirty

It turned out that the way to get Brigid's attention when she was pissed off was to piss her off even more.

I'd never seen her so angry. In fact, she was practically shaking with rage. But despite that, she wasn't yelling. Not that she wouldn't at some stage.

"What were you _thinking_?" she said in a venomous hiss, brandishing the paper at me. I looked away from the photos, those awful, embarrassing photos...

"This is why I don't like you going out with Louis!" she continued. "This is exactly what happens! You might get blind drunk with Freddie, but at least you don't go to the seediest joints in wizarding Britain! How am I meant to explain _this_, James?"

I had no words for her. She was right; no self-respecting person ever went to the Basilisk's Lair – or at least, nobody who _did_ go came out of it looking good. Except for perhaps Louis himself; he seemed to have this infuriating way of managing to look good in the public's eyes regardless of where he went. And he was two years younger than me – not that I was under any false illusions; I was well aware that he'd been frequenting the Lair long before he'd come of age. Clearly there was something in his Veela blood that allowed him to get away with these things.

Not that he'd escaped this time. The story was almost as much about him as it was me – not quite an even split, as my status in the Quidditch world entitled me to more column inches – but certainly he had garnered more attention than Freddie would have done if it were him in the same situation. Because Louis was the good-looking golden boy of our family, and the press _loved_ him. Or they had done. This story was almost as much of a fall from grace for him as it was for me.

But he wouldn't have to face Brigid's wrath, and that was possibly worse than even the angriest quarter-Veela, or a wizard who had developed several of the worst werewolf traits including the fiery temper.

And he wouldn't have to face Ginny Potter, either.

"And that's not even the worst bit!" Brigid went on, now in full flow. "It's bad enough that you've allowed yourself to be photographed with ... with these _women_, and _none_ of these photos show you in a remotely decent light – but how the hell do you go about explaining _this_?"

The headline that she was holding up was the worst of the lot. "_James Potter: our darling or our liability? Quidditch star breaches the Statute of Secrecy, and ditches his Muggle girlfriend mere weeks later."_

"You've _ditched_ her?" Brigid said incredulously. "Do you have _any_ concept of personal responsibility? Do you really think that you can just let her go like you have with all the other girls before her? We're meant to be a _secret_, James, the clue's in the title! You can't just go round telling everyone about us and then throwing them away once you've gotten bored of them; do you have any idea of the repercussions? Do you know how this makes you _look_? Your dad is the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and here you are breaching the most fundamental law of them all!"

I wasn't sure what it was that made me snap. It might have been the insinuation that I'd just gotten bored of Carlotta and thrown her away, or perhaps it was Brigid's general suggestion that I didn't give a damn about our rules.

Most probably, it was the reference to Dad. Because it was always about him in the end.

"Yeah, that's right, assume that it's all my fault that Carlotta's not around any more, because clearly I must have screwed it up, like I do everything else, right?"

"It's not a case of who did what, it's the fact that you _let it happen_-"

"Do you think I wanted this to happen?" I cried. "Do you think I _wanted_ things to go tits up with the only girl in years who's been interested in more than just the name? Do you think I _like_ the fact that those girls in the Lair were all over me just because I'm a Potter, that that's the only reason that anyone ever tries to talk to me?"

"Don't go trying to make me feel guilty-"

"Oh, don't worry, I know you won't feel guilty, because you don't give a damn, do you? You _never_ do! All you care about is bossing my life about, telling me what to do all the time, not giving a damn about what I actually _want_ to do! Congratulations, Brigid, you were instrumental in me making the biggest mistake of my life, and I still let you treat me like your fucking puppet. Well here's an idea for you: _I've had enough of it_-"

"_You've_ had enough?" She laughed hollowly. "James, when will you _ever_ take responsibility for things? You're honestly still going on about that Feversham issue? Still blaming me, as though I made you end it-"

"You hated her from the start! You never gave her a chance! You were always in my ear, telling me she was a fame-seeker, that I could do better ... you're meant to be my best friend, you're meant to be looking out for my best interests! What the hell else was I going to do with you feeding me all that bullshit for years? I cracked, okay? I fucking _cracked_, and I let her go, and it's all your fault!" I was letting it all pour out; all of the anger and resentment that I felt towards her, that I'd forced myself to bury and move on from, but had lingered there the whole time, just waiting for something to dig it up again. "It's always been the same with you; you've always told me what to do, and you've never thought about what _I_ want! It's all about _you_; you always have to be in control, don't you? 'James, do this interview, do that photoshoot, don't go out drinking with your cousin because I don't like him, don't date that girl because I don't like her', no thought whatsoever about what _I_ want to do! You always know best though, don't you? And you wonder why Freddie won't date you? Why the fuck would he _want_ to? You think he _wants_ a girl who bosses him about all the time, who condemns everything he does, who always has to kill the mood and spoil the fun-"

I felt oddly detached from the situation; I knew what I was saying, but I couldn't control it, couldn't stop myself, didn't give a damn that Brigid's face was utterly crumpling as I ranted on and on.

"Do you think I _like_ this, that my entire life is documented in the tabloids? I know I make mistakes sometimes, I get that, but I don't need you and everyone else preaching at me every time I slip up! You're always on my back about stuff, you pounce every time I do something you don't approve of! Do you think I like that? Do you think I _need_ it? But wait, we've already established that you don't give a damn about what I actually _think_ in all of this, haven't we? Because it's all about you, power-hungry Brigid Murphy, the woman behind James Potter, getting some sick, perverse pleasure out of bossing me around ... I bet that was your agenda all the time, wasn't it? Befriend the vulnerable famous boy and take advantage of it-"

"Are you fucking _kidding me_?" she exploded. "I-" But as quickly as she'd gotten riled up, she deflated; her shoulders sagged and her head dropped slightly. "You know, I can't even be bothered to argue my case. James ... you're messed up. I don't even know where this has come from ... I'm through with you. I'm done with all of this shit, I've had enough of you thinking you can treat me like your personal slave. You..."

She looked on the verge of tears. She looked as though she had something more to say, but whatever it was, she didn't say it.

And then she Disapparated.

* * *

><p>Mum still didn't visit. She sent another note instead, as though a slip of parchment with two lines of her writing on it was as good as her actual presence.<p>

_James,_

_Are you a complete idiot? You should know better than to go to the Basilisk's Lair! Fleur's utterly fuming, and I can't say I blame her._

_Domestic Quidditch is one thing, but the international game is completely different. If you want to be successful at this level, you can't afford to go out drinking with the frequency that you're used to._

_I suggest you stop attracting the media's attention like this if you wish to remain an England player. Demelza Robins doesn't take fondly to this sort of behaviour._

_Mum_

* * *

><p>They turned up outside my flat on Monday morning. I only noticed when I glanced out of the kitchen window and saw them all congregated outside on the pavement, armed with notebooks and cameras, attracting bemused glances from the Muggles who lived in the same block of flats. I stepped back from the window in alarm before they saw me.<p>

I'd been hounded by the media before. It was something I'd had to get used to, even when I was at Hogwarts.

But they'd never stalked me where I lived before.

They didn't stay for long. Ministry workers arrived to move them on; ironically, in accordance with the exact same law which I'd broken, the exact same law which had caused all this furore in the first place. But I knew that they'd be lying in wait elsewhere, that no matter where I tried to go, they'd be able to find me.

I couldn't leave my flat.

I needed some food, badly. I was nearly out, and what little I had left I had no idea what to do with. If Carlotta hadn't blown up and left this time last week, she'd have done something with it for me. But she'd gotten mad, and hadn't cooked anything, and I was still completely clueless. All I had was a bit of bread, some Chocolate Frogs, some Butterbeer and some Firewhisky, and I was running out of those too. What I'd give for a Hogwarts breakfast right now...

And then the idea came to me.

"Kreacher!" I called.

Kreacher worked at Hogwarts during term-time. It had been the arrangement between him and Dad since before I was born. He and Mum had never seen the need for a house-elf. But he'd remained Kreacher's master, and so when Mum was pregnant with me, and Dad had had to go to work but hadn't wanted to leave Mum by herself, he'd called Kreacher back from Hogwarts to help out around the house. And it had been that way ever since; if he wasn't needed at home, he worked at Hogwarts. Once Lily had gone to school at eleven, this arrangement had settled itself down into a far more regular one; Kreacher worked at Hogwarts during term-time, and at Mum and Dad's during the holidays, when there were more mouths to feed. Whether it would remain the same this summer, once Lily had left home, I wasn't sure.

But it meant that Kreacher answered to all five of us. It had come in handy at Hogwarts, where I had taken full advantage of this ability to summon food from the kitchens when I fancied it – Brigid had always been disapproving of this, but that didn't tend to bother me.

We weren't meant to call him away from Hogwarts. Dad had drummed it into us that we weren't to summon him away from school unless it was an emergency. But I knew that Lily abused this occasionally, and always had done – in her first year, when she'd been scared and homesick, he had been her most direct link to me and Al, and the wizarding world in general. He had always adored his little mistress, and had delighted in delivering her sweets and other food from Hogwarts, along with letters from me and Al.

So I really didn't feel that guilty about summoning him

He arrived straight away, with a faint _pop_ and a low bow.

"Master James wanted to see Kreacher?"

"Yeah, I did. Would you be able to bring me some food?"

"Of course Kreacher can. What food would Master James like?"

One of the reasons that I was so fond of Kreacher was that he didn't care if I made mistakes or said something wrong; he adored me anyway. I knew that this was partly because it was ingrained in him to be loyal to his masters, but at a time when I was trying to avoid judgemental people, I appreciated it nevertheless.

"Um ... maybe just some toast and eggs, nothing too much..." And then I thought of something else. "Ooh, and some treacle tart, maybe?"

"Master James likes his treacle tart like his father," Kreacher observed, to my slight distaste.

"Yeah, I know he likes it too," I said, waving the remark away. "And maybe something for dinner tonight? I don't have anything and I can't leave the house-"

"Kreacher will bring Master James some food!" he proclaimed with another bow, before disappearing with another pop.

He was back within moments, but he wasn't alone. No less than six other elves accompanied him; they were all almost impossible to see under the weight of the dishes they held.

"Um, I didn't quite mean that much..." I tailed off as Kreacher led the other elves into the kitchen, where he began to put the food away, ordering the other elves as to what went where.

"Kreacher has some breakfast for Master James," he said, setting a plate of cooked food down on the table, bacon, sausages, eggs and all, "and Kreacher has also brought some more food for Master James so that he does not need to leave the house!"

I glanced at it all as the elves put it in the fridge or the cupboards; there was a huge pie, a joint of meat, the treacle tart that I had so craved, a chocolate cake, even some Butterbeer...

"Wow, Kreacher!" I said in awe. "This is quite something!"

"Kreacher is bound to serve, Master James," he said, sinking into another bow.

And _then_ I felt guilty.

"Yeah, that's great," I said with a slight smile.

"Can Kreacher do anything else for Master James?"

"No, that's it..." I tailed off.

"Master James will call Kreacher if he needs anything else?"

"No. I mean, yeah, I will, but I don't think I'll need anything else..."

The other elves then bowed, which made me feel really uneasy – it was one thing having Kreacher doing my bidding, but I didn't like that I had half a dozen Hogwarts house elves carrying out my order.

And then they left with a synchronised _pop_, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

I didn't quite feel as guilty once I dug into my breakfast, though; it was _damn_ good.

* * *

><p>Later that day, Albus visited me. I should have been prepared for it; after all, he'd have known about the Ministry operation to shift the press from the pavement outside. I was surprised that I'd not heard from him before – not that I was complaining. I hadn't missed the preaching from my righteous brother. Now, my heart sank.<p>

"What do _you_ want?" I said gruffly.

He frowned at the bottle in my hand.

"You're drinking Firewhisky?"

"Yeah, and?"

"It's half one."

"'M celebrating, aren't I?"

He raised a brow.

"Haven't you done enough of that in the last week?"

I scowled.

"Make your point, and make it quick."

"You do realise you've acted like an idiot this past week?"

"I've been told," I replied curtly.

"Yes, and you're clearly doing something about it!" he said, gesturing towards the bottle again. "You have to take responsibility for yourself, James, you can't just act like a layabout-"

His words would have pissed me off either way. But coming so soon after Brigid had said nearly the exact same thing, they _really_ pissed me off.

"Oh, shut up," I snapped at him. "It's alright for you, isn't it? The _good_ son, the _favourite_, top marks at school, now following in his daddy's footsteps and becoming an Auror, can't do anything wrong ... you're a fucking suck-up, you know that? You're only here now because it'll make you _look good_-"

"That's bollocks, and you know it. I'm here because I _care_ about you, James, and I don't want to see you making a mistake-"

"You're as bad as Brigid!" I ranted. "You claim that you care about my well-being but you couldn't give a damn! You just don't want me to make you look bad! That's why you never liked me dating the Slytherin at school, isn't it? And you can't deny it; you're just the same with Rose and Malfoy now! You couldn't give a flying fuck, Albus, don't you go pretending otherwise. I'm not an _idiot_, you know-"

"Could have fooled me," he snorted. "You're the one sitting here getting drunk for no reason. What's gotten your wand in a knot all of a sudden, that you've decided that everyone's against you? If this is what being an England player does to you, then it's a bad move-"

"Oh, so _that's_ what it's all about, is it?" I sat upright. "_You_ think I'm going to steal your thunder! You don't want me to be a success, because you're scared I'll overshadow you!"

He stared at me, dumbstruck.

"What is _in_ that Firewhisky?" he said, sounding bewildered. Then he saw the plate on the coffee table. "Where's that treacle tart come from?"

"What's it to you?"

"That's from Hogwarts. Have you been making Kreacher bring food to you? You _know_ you're not supposed to use him like that, James-"

"Here we go again, with the self-righteous bollocks! Merlin, lighten _up_ a bit, Al. Why the fuck do you think you never pull women?"

He looked at me distastefully.

"You are _repugnant_," he declared, and Disapparated.

I was used to Al looking down at me. He'd always been far more law-abiding than me, and had made no attempt to hide that he thought I lacked morals.

But there was something quite jarring about him finding me repulsive.

I tried to shake off the unease, but couldn't let it go. So instead, I decided to drown it, and opened a new bottle of Firewhisky.


	31. thirty-one

My family seemed to think May was the month to take chunks out of me. Following Brigid and Albus' lectures, the next person who decided to berate me was Rose.

I groaned audibly when she emerged from my fireplace the morning after my confrontation with Albus, looking in the mood for one herself.

"And what do _you_ want?" I grumbled.

"Al told me what you said to him yesterday." As usual, she looked unimpressed. "You were _horrible_, James! He's only looking out for your best interests-"

"Yeah? Well he's got a funny way of doing it."

"Why, because he actually knows what rules and morals are? He's a wonderful person, James, and you'd do well to take a few lessons from him-"

"Yes, he's such a wonderful person that you confided in him straight away about seeing Scorpius Malfoy," I snarled.

Her eyes flashed.

"That's a low blow and you know it. They've had a bad history; I'll be the first to admit Scorpius wasn't the nicest person when he was younger. But Al's perfectly fine with it now-"

"And by 'perfectly fine' you mean he's at least stopped putting Bulbadox Powder in Scorpius' shoes when he's around."

"That was once, and it was an _accident_, and how do you even _know _that?" She looked bemused for a moment, before shaking her head slightly. "Anyway, that's beside the point! Stop trying to change the subject. You were utterly _vile_ to Albus yesterday. Your treatment of him always _has_ left a lot to be desired, but you've gone too far this time. He's concerned about you, and for good reason! You should be grateful to have siblings who care for your wellbeing, who want to see you do well. So what if he's bright? So what if he wants to be an Auror? You know what, James? I think you and Uncle Harry have problems. You may try to hide it, but it's obvious; you've _never_ been close to him! But that's not Albus' fault, and you need to stop taking it out on him-"

"Have you told your parents that you're seeing the son of their school nemesis yet?" I cut in.

Her lip curled.

"No, I – what's _that_ got to do with anything?"

"Next time you want to lecture me on my relationship with my parents, maybe you want to make sure you're not being a complete hypocrite first," I snarled. "And if you don't fuck off and leave me alone, I'll tell them for you."

She looked as though I'd just slapped her round the face.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I would. It would be payback for you telling Mum how Carlotta found out about magic, don't you think?"

Her jaw dropped.

"You ... you are _so_ underhand!" she said furiously. "I told her because _she needed to know_! You broke the _Statute_, James, she had every right to know how you did it! You may not be aware of this, you may prefer to just brush it all under the carpet and pretend it's not an issue, but it's a _serious_ thing! Especially if you've just cast her out into the wilderness like the _Prophet_ seems to think-"

I picked up the closest thing to me – a paperweight – and threw it at her with all my might. Her wandwork had always been rapid; she had her wand out in a trice and deflected it across the room, where it hit the wall and disintegrated into thousands of shards of glass. She stared at me for a moment, her chest heaving, and her wand aimed straight at my heart. I was unarmed, so I just stood there and stared at her challengingly, almost daring her to fire at me.

But after a moment, she pocketed her wand, her eyes still trained on me. The expression on her face was unreadable but really didn't look right – fear? Was she _scared_ of me? – but it was soon replaced with a look of resignation, as she turned to my fireplace and allowed it to take her home.

* * *

><p>By the end of the week, I'd run out of the food that Kreacher and his minions had brought me. There may have been seven of them, but they were still small, and unable to carry around that much food at once.<p>

So I summoned him back again.

Or at least, I tried to.

I didn't think much of it when he didn't turn up the moment I said his name. Although I knew that house elves tried to be as quick as possible, and viewed keeping a master waiting as a serious professional failure, I also knew that he had other work to do at Hogwarts, so when he didn't appear straight away, I wasn't too concerned.

But I'd been waiting for about five minutes, and there was no sign of him. I frowned, bemused.

"Kreacher!" I called again.

But still nothing.

I swore loudly, kicking the wall. Why the hell wasn't he coming? I _needed_ him. I could hardly leave to go to the shops myself; the papers were still full of stories about me, and Brigid was clearly remaining true to her word and doing nothing to deflect the attention.

In the end, I called Freddie. I knew he was at the shop, but I couldn't think of any other option.

"Have you just been hiding in your flat all week?" he said quietly; he'd managed to leave the shop counter but couldn't escape to anywhere further away than the store cupboard at the back, and was sensible enough to realise he should keep the conversation hidden from his colleagues and parents.

"I could hardly leave it, could I?" I reasoned. "You must have seen the _Prophet_ these past few days."

"It's been brought to my attention," he said dryly. "The Lair? You went to the Lair and didn't invite me?"

I grinned. I could always count on Freddie to take my side.

"You were working, mate!"

"Not in the evening I wasn't!"

"Well, Louis and I were already well gone by then, it slipped our minds," I said apologetically. "Besides, you should be _thanking_ me; imagine the lectures you'd have got from Brigid and your mum if you'd come."

"Mum wouldn't have batted an eyelid," he pointed out. There were times I envied Freddie, and the way Uncle George and Aunt Angelina just let him get on with things. "But I'll take your point about Brie. Was she not too happy with you?"

I hesitated, then decided not to answer the question.

"Listen, is there any chance you can bring me some food?" I asked. "I can hardly go strolling down Diagon Alley..."

"Do you not still have your Dad's old cloak?"

"Na, I gave it to Lily when we left school, didn't I?" I reminded him. I wished I hadn't now; I'd do anything to be able to make myself invisible.

"Bad move, mate! Yeah, I can get some stuff for you, but I don't finish until five so it'll have to be after then. That okay?"

"That's great," I said, relieved. "Cheers, Freddo."

"No problem," he said brightly. "I've gotta go, Mum's about to have a fit. See you later!"

I hung up, feeling slightly better. At least someone in my family wasn't pissed off with me right now.

* * *

><p>I was even more grateful when he turned up later, and I saw what he'd bought. There may not have been anything to rival Kreacher's treacle tart, but one thing that the house elf hadn't been able to bring me was Firewhisky.<p>

Freddie had brought me a whole crate.

"I figured if you can't go to the alcohol, then the alcohol can come to you!" he said brightly, falling back into my sofa with a bottle of his own.

His presence was like a breath of fresh air. I'd spent most of the week alone, with nothing but my ugly thoughts to keep me company. Any visitors had been hell-bent on criticising my every move. It was nice to spend some time with somebody who wasn't taking the moral high ground.

Unfortunately, it didn't last long.

"I heard you argued with Brie," he said tentatively.

I scowled, as the memory of that argument forced itself to the forefront of my mind, determined not to remain in the dark corner I'd tried to push it back to.

"She was being overly-interfering."

"She's just trying to help you, mate. She just wants what's best for you-"

"Where the fuck do you think _you_ get off lecturing _me_ about how to deal with Brigid?" I snapped at him.

He had the decency to look abashed.

"_And_ Rose says you tried attacking her," he continued, clearly trying to deflect attention from his treatment of Brigid.

"I tried – _she drew her wand on me_!" I cried. It wasn't the complete truth, admittedly, but I wasn't about to tell him what _had_ happened.

But he already knew.

"Apparently you threw a paperweight at her," he continued, looking unusually solemn. "I know she can get annoying, but ... do you think that's _wise_?"

"Oh, so I'm going to get a lecture from _you_ as well, now, am I?" I said sulkily. "Really, Fred? _Really_?"

He frowned.

"James, is everything alright?" he asked tentatively.

"Why the hell wouldn't it be?" I snapped.

"You seem really _bitter_. You've just made the England squad! You should be happy, not locked away in your flat!"

"Yeah, well, blame the fucking _Prophet_ for that," I muttered.

Except, it wasn't all the _Prophet_'s doing. They might have started it, but it had been Carlotta, and her stupid principles, that'd made it worse. If it hadn't been for her, I wouldn't have hooked up with Allegra that night, and if _she_ hadn't gotten angry with me, then I wouldn't have ended up in the damn Lair.

And thinking of Carlotta just got me riled up again.

"Okay," Freddie ploughed on, "here's a thought. Why don't you just apologise to Brie – I'm not saying it was your fault, but you know what women are like, they _never_ admit they're wrong. Especially Brie. So why don't you suck up to her, get back in her good books, and then ask her to smooth things over with the _Prophet_ for you? Then we can have a good night out in the Hinky to _properly_ celebrate, without having to worry about the press hounding you."

I glared at him.

"I am _not_ sucking up to Brigid," I said flatly.

"But-"

"I'm not giving her the satisfaction of thinking she's right," I said, in such a firm voice that he didn't dare argue.

"Can't we have a night out anyway, though?" he pleaded. "Come on, we can evade the journalists! We can get into the Hinky through the back way, and they don't let photographers inside, you know that. The bouncers will help us out. It's not fair that you should have to sit in your flat all day every day, just because your agent's being petty and won't help you out. Come on. It'll be fun. You _need_ it."

I considered his words carefully. He was right; I _did_ need to get out. But I was scared of the prospect of the _Prophet_ catching up with us, even if the Hinky _did_ let us sneak in.

"I can ring them?" he continued. "We can sort it all out right now. It'll be fine; they love us, you know they'll be delighted to have us there. The only reason _they'll_ be bothered that you went to the Lair is that you weren't there instead!"

"We visited the Hinky before the Lair," I pointed out.

"Well, in that case they're not going to have a problem at all! Come on, you deserve a bit of fun."

I was beginning to come round to the idea.

"We'll get the bouncers to keep people away from us," he continued, "that way you won't be disturbed by anyone you don't want to see. It'll be fine. We can get Louis out as well, if you want; send him in as bait so he deflects the attention. You up for that?"

I'd been confined to this flat for five days. The thought of being able to get away from it for a few hours finally won me over.

"I'm in," I said with a slight grin.

"Great!" Freddie said, getting to his feet. "And you never know, once Brigid sees you can handle the media yourself, maybe she'll come round?"

It was a fantastic idea in theory.

* * *

><p>To be fair, his whole plan was fantastic in theory. We'd used the back entrance of the Hinky before, and it was far easier to remain unseen that way. Inviting Louis along was a bonus; once he was through the front doors, everyone's attention would be on him, and we'd be forgotten.<p>

In theory.

But the theory didn't take into account that Louis had been caught up in my media scandal just days before. It didn't take into account the immediate assumption of the media's that if Louis was visiting the Hinky, then I'd be with him.

It didn't take into account the ability of a rogue _Prophet_ photographer to sneak through the security at the doors in search of a scoop.

He found me easily. And I recognised him immediately. He'd been with Deirdre, the interviewer who'd pissed me off in the Atrium. He'd also been a part of the crowd that had assembled outside my flat after that story about me and Louis broke.

Freddie's biggest failure was that his plan didn't take into proper consideration my current resentment of the media.

The moment I saw the photographer, I snapped. I lunged for him, seized his camera and threw it across the room furiously. And then I pulled back my arm and punched him square in the jaw.

He staggered backwards, losing his balance slightly. A second blow saw him fall to the floor. I fell to my knees next to him, throwing punch after punch, oblivious to my surroundings; I couldn't hear anything, couldn't see anything, other than the bastard _Prophet_ journalist in front of me...

Until multiple hands seized my arms and pulled me away from him, forcing me upright, steering me away.

"Let me go, let me _go_-" I said, struggling to pull away from the firm grip of my captors.

"James, stop it," came Louis' sharp voice.

It was as though his words cleared the air, lifted the red mist which had descended so quickly. I stared in horror at the aftermath of what I had done, and allowed Louis and Freddie to lead me through to the back of the Hinky, to Apparate me home.

Where they both just stared at me, lost for words, not knowing how to react to what had just happened. Louis looked disgusted. Freddie just looked disappointed.

And I stared back at them, just as shocked, with no idea of what to say or do.

_What had I just done?_


	32. thirty-two

When I was a kid, I used to be scared of the monsters under my bed. I'd be okay, so long as I was completely hidden by my duvet. Then, the monsters wouldn't be able to get to me. When I was under my covers, I was invincible.

I'd eventually overcome this fear, with Dad's help. That was back before anything had ever come between us, before I'd gone to Hogwarts and learned just how famous he was, before that fame had soured our relationship. And before I'd had a chance to disappoint him. Back then, he was just my dad. The guy who taught me how to fly, played Gobstones with me, and bought me my first Pygmy Puff.

Now that everything in my life had gone wrong, I was again trying to hide under my covers, as I'd done when I was eight. But the trouble was, my monsters weren't under the bed any more. They were in my head. And no matter how deeply I buried myself under my duvet, I couldn't hold those demons off.

And I didn't have Dad to help me anymore.

My entire life seemed to have turned upside-down. I had no idea how or when it had happened; all I knew was that right now, I had completely no control over my life. And it scared me.

How had it all come to this?

The worst part was, I knew this wasn't as bad it could possibly get. I'd not seen the _Prophet_ yet. I'd heard the owl arrive, but I hadn't answered its knock on the window, and so eventually it had flown away. But I didn't need to see it to know what the headline would be. I would undoubtedly be front page news. My trip to the Lair had made the front page, but that had been the Sunday paper, which was always light on hard-hitting news.

But a Quidditch star assaulting a photographer? That would easily make Friday's front page. And it wouldn't end there. I doubted I'd avoid some sort of retribution for this. I'd thought I was confined to my flat before last night; now I truly _was_.

And as much as I hoped it might, my duvet wasn't going to deflect the backlash.

A quiet _pop_ signalled that somebody had just Apparated into my living room. I froze under my duvet, not wanting to see anyone, not daring to emerge from my safe place.

I heard the bedroom door open.

"James?"

It was Brigid. I squeezed my eyes tight shut, not wanting to see her. Not because I feared her anger.

Because I feared her _disappointment _in me.

"James, are you awake?"

I lay deathly quiet, hoping she would leave.

After a moment, I heard the door close. I still didn't move, just in case she was still in my room.

But the movement I heard sounded as if it came from the other side of the door. A minute or so later, there was another _pop_, and after that there was silence.

I waited a few minutes more, before slowly peeling the comfort shield that was my duvet back. My curtains were shut, and so my room was still dark despite it being mid-morning.

I stumbled across the room and pulled the door open. The light shining in through the windows nearly blinded me; I squinted in an attempt to alleviate the issue.

It only took a moment to find the note Brigid had left me. It was short, written in shaky writing, and stained by a couple of tear marks.

_James,_

_The Falcons management have asked me to inform you that, in the light of recent events, they have had no choice but to suspend you from the squad until further notice. Your presence at training is no longer required._

_Brigid_

With every word I read, I felt what little resolve I had left crumble to pieces around me.

* * *

><p>I was cocooned in the protection of my bedding once more when Aunt Audrey visited me. Unlike Brigid, she didn't leave a note, but gently pulled my duvet back.<p>

"Oh, James," she sighed, stroking my forehead.

I didn't move. I kept my eyes tightly shut. But there was no chance of me tricking a Senior Healer into believing that I was asleep.

"Darling, you need to stop running," she said quietly.

But I couldn't. I didn't know how to. Running was all I'd ever done, all I'd ever known. I didn't know how else to fix anything. And I'd pushed away the only person who could help me make it better.

And then the second owl came.

"Do you want me to get that?" Aunt Audrey said gently.

I nodded, my eyes still squeezed shut.

She left, and returned moments later with a slip of parchment.

"I think you need to read this," she said gently, sitting down on the bed next to me.

I opened my eyes, and took the letter from her.

_James_,

_It is with great regret that I must inform you that I have had to remove you from the World Cup squad._

_As you know, I set high standards for my players to follow. The England team represents the nation, and they deserve to be represented by those who will do them proud. Your recent actions have brought the game into disrepute, and to retain you within the squad would contradict the standards your fellow players work so hard to reach._

_I remain an admirer of your talent on the Quidditch pitch, and hope and expect you to seek the help that you clearly need in order to get your career back on track._

_Yours,_

_Demelza Robins_

"James..." Aunt Audrey began tentatively.

I said nothing, but merely rolled over and stared at the wall.

"James, please, talk to me..." she pleaded. "Darling, you need help; let me try to help you. You can't just push people away..."

I screwed my eyes shut again, wishing that she would just leave. Eventually, she took the hint.

And then I did two things I hadn't done in years, and it truly was as though I was still that eight year old boy who hid from monsters.

I cried.

And I gave up.

* * *

><p>The absolute final straw came the next morning. There had still been a small lifeline, the most minute of possibilities that things weren't all that bad. Because so long as <em>someone<em> still believed in me, I hadn't _completely_ screwed up ... surely?

I'd always had three constants in my life. Three people who had never once stopped believing in me, who had always stood by me and supported me.

But Freddie wasn't by my side right now. I'd disappointed him, just as I had done everyone else. That _he_ was ashamed by my actions really went to show how bad they were. He'd never looked at me like that before. But even without him, it was still okay, because I still had Mum and Lily.

Until Saturday morning.

I got a letter from Lily. She didn't receive the _Prophet_ every day, because receiving owl post was too risky. That was the only reason I'd escaped her judgement after my visit to the Lair had been publicised.

But there was no way that this would escape her notice.

_James,_

_You really are a fool. What are you playing at, pulling a stunt like that? I'm sorry about the England thing, I really am, but you've brought it on yourself. This was your dream, why are you throwing it away like this? I thought you had more sense than this. You're lucky that I've got exams on, or I'd be round there hitting you round the head!_

_Go to Sinead and apologise for what you've done, and make a public apology as well. That way, you'll be reinstated into the Falcons squad in no time. I think you might have lost your chance in this World Cup though._

_Please, don't disappoint me._

_Lily_

But I'd already disappointed her. She didn't need to say it; I could feel the disdain oozing out of every word she'd written.

I didn't even get a note from Mum this time. I guessed she felt she'd said everything she needed to say; that her absence for the second Saturday in a row said more than a million words on parchment possibly could.

By Saturday, I truly was alone in the world.


	33. thirty-three

I could count on one hand the number of times that Dad had been to my flat. In fact, I probably only needed a single digit – the day I'd moved in. Despite that, I still wasn't all that surprised when he finally showed up on Monday morning. After all, he'd probably decided that he couldn't ignore his failure of a son any longer.

He came via the front door. It was more respect than the rest of my family credited me with; they preferred to just Apparate or Floo in without invitation. Or perhaps – more likely – it was down to mere unfamiliarity. Because these days, it didn't seem like we were father and son.

He wasn't alone; Mum was with him. My first thought was that she had cajoled him into seeing me, but it soon became clear that this was a visit under his own steam. He looked tired and worn out; in fact they both did. But where he looked angry, she just looked ... resigned. It was a far worse thing for me to realise. Dad always seemed angry with me these days, and I didn't generally care these days about what he thought of me. I'd learned that lesson years ago.

Mum just giving up on me was infinitely worse.

"Have you _completely_ lost your mind?" Dad exploded the moment I shut the door.

"Harry-" began Mum, but he raised a hand to silence her.

"James, you are an _adult_!" he said. "It's about time you started behaving like one! I cannot _believe_ your behaviour of late. What on _earth_ possessed you to assault a member of the public?"

I didn't respond. I didn't _have_ a response. How could I possibly justify my actions? I squirmed under his angry glare, feeling about six years old.

"Do you have _any_ concept of personal responsibility? This isn't just a _game_, you know! You can't go fooling around like this and not expect the ramifications! Do you realise how this looks?"

I cracked.

"How this makes _you_ look, you mean?" I said venomously. "That's the only reason why you're here, isn't it? Because I'm a slight on your character! Because you're meant to be the important, respected Head of the MLE, and you can't bear to have your reputation damaged by your son-"

"Don't be so immature," he snapped. "This is about _you_, and-"

"Oh, it _is_ about me now, is it?" I laughed hollowly. "So you care now that I'm fucking up, is that it?"

"Whoever said I didn't-"

"Don't go pretending otherwise!" I interrupted him, getting angrier still at his own denial. "You don't care unless it affects you; you never have cared, not in years! You never show any interest in my life, you only turn up at my Quidditch matches when Mum makes you! You didn't even congratulate me on making the England squad!"

He was shaking his head, looking dumbstruck.

"You're blaming _me_ for all of this?" he said incredulously. "You-"

"And now you're trying to deny it!" I interrupted him, my blood boiling. "Admit it; you don't care at all-"

"James, why do you think you've not had the Law Enforcement officers banging your door down yet?" he exploded. "You've _assaulted_ someone, that's a criminal offence; the photographer had every right to press charges! I've had to pay him off to keep him quiet! Not to _mention_ the Statute breach. You know how it works these days; you're meant to apply to the MLE and the MAC for permission before telling a Muggle about us! The MAC wanted to get their hands all over this one, I've had to persuade them that there are far more pressing matters at hand than a simple slip of the tongue but that's hardly going to take the heat off! And _you_ think I don't care about you?"

I felt the colour drain from my face. The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes wanted to get involved ... that meant Obliviators. And Dad had put them off the scent.

But I couldn't even feel the slightest amount of gratitude at that fact, because there was one thought at the forefront of my mind.

"You didn't do this for me," I said quietly, shaking my head slightly. "You did this for _you_. This is all about damage limitation, about _you_ not looking good-"

"James, if I was worried about my own image then I would hardly be bypassing the legal system, would I?" he said, looking exasperated. "You _know_ how I feel about corruption in the Ministry; I've just completely gone against the principles which I try to uphold, do you really think _that's_ going to make me look good? Or would you rather I put myself first and act _properly_, and hang two lawsuits over your head? And that's not even the most important issue here; how about you stop challenging me about how I do my job, and ask your mother how _hers_ is right now?"

"Harry – no, don't-" Mum began, looking as though this conversation was the last one she wanted to have.

"What?" I frowned, confused. I turned to look at her. "What does he mean? What's happened?"

"Your mother has been working non-stop for days trying to put a stranglehold on the media's coverage of your antics. She didn't leave the office all weekend!"

My stomach tied itself in knots as I remembered her no-show on Saturday. The lack of explanation. Because of _this_?

"Unfortunately, she's not had as much success," Dad added in clipped tones.

I was unsure as to where this was going. The _Prophet_ had already been all over my misdemeanours, surely the damage had already been done?

"They want to run an article on you," Mum said quietly. I turned my attention to her. I'd noted when she'd arrived that she looked tired, but upon a second look it seemed as though she'd barely slept in the past few days. Understandable, if she'd been working all weekend. The knot tightened. "Not like what they've done before. A full analysis into your life; your time at school, your time with the Falcons, _everything_. They want to interview friends, family, schoolmates ... as many people as possible."

It sounded bad. But I didn't see how it was _that_ much of an issue. After all, there was no chance that my family and close friends would talk, not for this kind of an article. And as for people I'd been at school with ... well, that didn't bother me. What could they expose? There was nothing _to_ expose.

And then Mum dropped the bombshell.

"And my editor told me to write it."

My jaw dropped.

"I refused," she said, her eyes beginning to well with tears. "I said I thought it was morally wrong to probe into someone's life like that, to try to pull apart someone who clearly needs _help_. And I said that I'd say the same thing even if it _wasn't_ you, and that I thought it was despicable to ask me to write it given that it _is_ you. How can they ask a mother to drag her son's name through the mud?" Her voice broke. "And then the editor decided, on the basis that I'd disobeyed a direct order and given that there was certain to be a breakdown in staff relations because my _son_ assaulted my colleague, that he had no other choice but to dismiss me."

It was like a blow to the stomach. I stared at her in horror, lost for words. My mother had _lost her job_ because of me?

"You see, James?" Dad said, wrapping a comforting arm around Mum's shoulders. "Your actions have had serious consequences! The press have been bombarding Lily for the past week trying to get a statement from her! She's trying to sit exams, not to mention _she's_ at risk of breaking the Statute and being exposed to her schoolmates!"

The guilt over that would have felt like a lofty blow, if not for the fact that the sledgehammer which had hit me with the news of Mum's dismissal had left me feeling numb. So numb that I couldn't even summon enough feeling to get angry that Dad was once more bringing Lily, precious, _fragile_ Lily, into the conversation.

"And as for abusing your privileges with Kreacher-"

For some reason, Dad's knowledge of this rankled enough to prompt a response.

"How do you know about that?" I said angrily. "Albus told you, didn't he? The stinking tattletale-" Then I remembered Kreacher's absence when I'd tried to summon him a second time. "You forbade Kreacher from following my orders!"

"House elves are _not_ at your beck and call to do your bidding," Dad said thunderously. "It makes me sick to the stomach to think that you consider it okay to laze around and let him bring you food! After all I've taught you about the poor treatment of magical creatures-"

"And yet, you keep him on as your elf!" I interrupted.

"Because he knows nothing else! He's not mine out of choice, he's mine through law! If I had a choice, then I would have him leave my service, but to do so would break his heart. He lives to serve and through me he has a tie to his old family; I can't take that away from him! I don't _want_ a house elf at all; why do you think I have him working at Hogwarts during the school term? But there's a difference in letting him do what he enjoys doing, and _abusing_ that power-"

"I didn't hear you telling Lily this when she used him to deliver letters to me and Albus and to deliver her Chocolate Frogs," I said coldly.

"She was in a delicate situation at the time, and I drew the line as soon as I felt she'd come to terms with her situation-"

There was an odd maniacal laugh; it took me a moment to realise that it was coming from my mouth.

"Here we go again, let's treat Lily extra specially because she's a Squib, and we'll treat Albus specially too because he's unsure about himself, but we won't give a damn about James because he can handle himself and doesn't deserve our attention-"

"How can you say we don't think you deserve our attention-"

"YOU'RE ONLY HERE BECAUSE I'VE DONE SOMETHING WRONG!" I bellowed at him.

Dad's eyes flashed; it was as though something inside him had snapped.

"Is that what you think? Because if that's the case then I wonder why I wasn't here sooner-"

It all happened so quickly; it was as though my actions were uncontrollable, as though my limbs were moving without my brain's say-so, and the next thing I knew I had my wand aimed at my own father's heart.

"James, _no_!" Mum cried, stepping forwards; Dad, a rapid draw, was quicker than her, and I found myself staring at the end of _his_ wand.

"Go on then," he said, panting slightly, "curse me."

"_Harry_-"

I flipped.

"_Sectum_-"

"_NO_!"

Mum whipped her own wand up and conjured a shield so strong that I was forced to take a few steps backwards. It knocked Dad slightly off-kilter too, and that seemed to jolt his senses; he pocketed his wand, stared at me in disgust for a moment, then left.

"James," Mum whispered, "darling..."

She lowered her arm, and the shield dropped. For a split second I wanted nothing more than to go to her, to be held by her as I had done when I was younger, but then I realised.

She'd been on Dad's side of the shield. She'd conjured it between me and _her_.

I shook my head slowly.

"I can't believe you," I hissed, and then I turned tail and headed into my bedroom.

"No – James, please, _wait_, let me talk to you-"

"You let him come here!" I bellowed at her, turning to face her as I reached the doorway to my room.

"I tried to stop him, I really did, but he was so _angry_, but he doesn't mean to be, darling, he just wants to _help_ you, we both do-"

"I don't need your help," I snarled, and with a sinking heart I shut the door in her face.

"No, James, _please_, don't shut me out! You need to stop shutting everyone out, we _care_ about you and we want to _help_ you, we hate seeing you like this!" She started to cry, and I closed my eyes, resting my head against the doorframe. "Baby, we can fix this, but only if you _talk_ to us and tell us what's wrong, _please_..."

I sank to the floor, eyes screwed shut in agony, silently pleading with her to leave.

"James, I love you, you _know_ that I do! We _all_ love you, poppet, how could we not? Just let me in, Jimmy-"

She tried to turn the handle, but with a shaking hand I magically locked the door. Her sobs grew more intense.

"No, _no_, Jimmy, you can't do this, please, I'm your _mother_..."

And at that point, I nearly gave in, nearly opened the door to let her in. Right now, all I wanted was to be enveloped in her arms.

But then I remembered that look on Dad's face, and I knew what I had to do.

I raised my palm to the door, and pressed it against the wood, imagining that on the other side, she was doing the same. And then I raised my wand again, and pointed it at the door.

"_Silencio_."

With that one word, I felt my heart splinter into a million pieces.

* * *

><p><em>AN: This is the confrontation which I think some of you were looking forward to. Unfortunately, I don't think it's panned out the way you hoped! Rest assured, James isn't doomed to live a life of loneliness and misery; there _is _light at the end of the tunnel, and things do begin to pick up for him soon. He still has some learning to do before things can be fixed, though. As for when that learning happens ... well, you'll have to wait for the next chapter. It's already written, and it's my favourite of them all so far. A new character appears, who I've been waiting for a long time to introduce. It's quite exciting, finally being so close to reaching that point. :) Thanks for the support and reviews, I really appreciate it!_


	34. thirty-four

This time last week, I'd thought that my flat was the safest place to be. The most _comforting_ place to be. As long as I stayed here, I couldn't be disturbed by people I didn't want to talk to.

But right now, those people were my family, who didn't seem to realise when I didn't want to talk. I didn't want to hear what they had to say, didn't want them to tell me what I already knew – that I was a failure, that I'd gone badly wrong and that I'd disappointed them.

I was a failed human being. And right now, I just wanted to escape.

Escaping was hard. I could lock my door and put Silencing Charms on my room, but that didn't stop the most determined people, and I didn't know any spells or wards that would keep them away. After Ryan, Della, Teddy and Roxanne had all tried their hardest to get to me, I finally gave in and left my flat during the daylight hours for the first time in two weeks.

The first time I Apparated there, I wasn't sure where I was going. I just let my subconscious guide me. Once I was there, I realised it was the perfect place for me to hide.

It was the perfect place for a failed human being.

I needed somewhere nobody would judge me, somewhere nobody would give a damn that I was even a Potter in the first place, let alone that I'd punched a journalist and been kicked off my Quidditch team. And that place was the pub where all failed human beings went, in search of an atmosphere where nobody would criticise them.

The Hog's Head had, for a short time in its life, served a more upmarket clientele. It had always lagged far behind the Three Broomsticks in terms of class, but after the second war against Voldemort it had experienced an upsurge in visitor numbers and had spruced itself up to match. People had wanted to visit a place that had played such an important role in Voldemort's eventual defeat; that the landlord Aberforth had also taken part in this almighty battle lent it even more credibility. The Ministry had also cracked down on crime and corruption in those years, weeding out many of its less desirable customers, and so all round, it had become a more acceptable place to be seen.

But this hadn't lasted long. Aberforth's death had coincided with the Ministry's relaxation of their law enforcement, and so the pub had fallen back into its old ways.

Which was why I went there.

It was nice, not to have anybody asking about my career or my parents, or giving a double-take on seeing me. The bartender didn't give a damn that it was James Potter he was serving and the patrons didn't seem to care who they were drinking alongside either.

For the next three weeks, I followed the same pattern. I headed to the pub the moment someone tried to catch me in my flat, and stayed there for the rest of the day, often not leaving until it closed in the early hours of the morning. Then, I'd head home to sleep for a few hours, only to be woken by the next visitor in the queue.

Only the Falcons' matches allowed me to keep track of the time. Aside from that, the days all rolled into one. But the Falcons matches were consistent, the one constant in my life. Three weeks on, two weeks off. The two weeks off had passed, so now we'd reached the next block of matches.

It was odd, not playing a part in them. I'd not missed a match for two seasons; even if I hadn't played, I'd still been an avid spectator. I almost couldn't bring myself to watch the first one, against the Caerphilly Catapults. But the Hog's Head put it on – it seemed even failed human beings still enjoyed watching Quidditch, although I wasn't sure how much of this interest was down to their gambling habits.

Roxanne was playing alongside Ryan and Della. That, above all else, was what caught my attention, and I shifted closer to the television to get a better view.

The broadcast of this game was the first time any of the customers fully acknowledged who I was.

"I got a solid bet on your lot to win this, boy," one of them said gruffly. "If they lose cause your cousin's playin' instead o' you..."

"You don't need to worry," I interrupted hurriedly, slightly concerned as to what he'd do to me if the Falcons _did_ lose. "Roxie's better than I am."

He grunted, looking me up and down.

"Well, tha's no' a massive reassurance," he muttered.

I winced at the slight, but didn't say anything. After all, he was _much_ bigger than me.

I'd been right to place my confidence in her. We won the match convincingly, and Roxie, Della and Ryan all put on a fantastic show. Two of their opposite number were in the Welsh World Cup squad, but they had a terrible game. I felt a small pang of sympathy for them. In fact, the Catapults' single shining light was one of their Beaters, a lug of a bloke whose talent – and size and looks to boot – rivalled Cato's. He nearly unseated Ryan a couple of times, which was an impressive feat.

After the game, my new friend bought a round of drinks in celebration of his winnings, and set a tankard down in front of me.

"'ere you go, chap," he said. "For what it's worth, I'd 'ave liked to 'ave watched you in that match. Big fan o' yours, when your head's screwed on right."

I smiled slightly.

"I don't think it ever was screwed on right," I said slowly. "But thanks anyway."

He shrugged. "You didn't seem too 'ard done by a few weeks ago, pal." But he left it at that, clearly not wanting to get involved in some kind of deep and meaningful conversation.

And that was the crux of it all. He was right; I _wasn't_ hard done by at all. In fact, I'd had everything I'd dreamed of. So why had I let it slip away?

The answer came in a single word. A name.

_Carlotta_.

I'd let myself get far too attached; I realised that now. But she hadn't wanted anything serious from the start, and she was less likely to want anything to do with me now. I'd betrayed her trust and, even worse, I'd _offended_ her. How could I have even suggested she might think differently of me if she'd known about Dad's fame?

But I'd blown my chance. She was the first girl since Hogwarts who I'd ever truly felt something for, and I'd let her go. And along with her had gone my chance of playing for England. It had been mere inches away from me ... and now it was gone.

I shook my head, and drank my mead. I didn't want to think about it any longer.

The customers left me alone, until the following Saturday. They didn't even talk to me about the _Prophet_'s expose, which had been published that week. I only knew of its existence because I'd found a copy of the paper on the bar one day and had flicked through it. I'd read the offending article – which Deirdre had written – to find it packed with 'scandals' from my Hogwarts days, all revealed by 'close school friends'. Oddly, it didn't seem to bother me. I'd become so detached from the real world that nothing more could possibly hurt me. I simply shrugged, and threw the paper onto the fire.

The Falcons' next game was against Wigtown Warriors. But it wasn't the only match people were talking about; far from it.

It took me a while to twig. I'd noticed the large numbers of people walking up the cobbled street towards the castle, but it wasn't until the Quidditch channel made reference to Ryan and Roxanne's two seasons playing together for Gryffindor that I put two and two together.

Today was the last day of the Hogwarts Quidditch season. Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw, in a winner-takes-all. Hugo's last chance to win the Quidditch Cup.

My stomach contracted, and I subconsciously retreated into the dark shadows at the back of the Hog's Head, as I realised my family would be here, in the village.

My gambling friend glanced at me, and seemed to realise what was up.

"S'alright, lad," he grunted. "They won't come in 'ere. An' if they do, we'll make sure they don't find you."

I smiled in gratitude, appreciating the rare show of support.

I watched the Falcons match, but my mind was only half on it. I could hear the cheers and boos from the school, and I was desperate to know what was happening. Were Gryffindor winning? Out on the pitch at Wigtown, Roxanne seemed far more focused on the match than I was. I wondered who was there to watch her. Uncle George and Aunt Angelina surely, so long as they'd found someone else to run the shops. Would Freddie be there too? Uncle Ron, Aunt Hermione and Rose would of course be just up the road, and I suspected I'd find Al there too, maybe even Lily.

I faintly wondered where my parents and siblings would have opted to go had I been playing instead of Roxanne.

The Falcons won their game reasonably quickly, much to the pleasure of my new friend, who bought me another tankard of mead for my troubles. The Hogwarts match went on for longer. I knew when it had finished, because the village began to fill back up again. I slunk back to my safe spot in the dark corner at the back of the pub, but part of me longed to step out onto the street and ask someone the result. Had my cousin won his trophy?

Eventually my friend took pity on me, and headed out himself to get the result from someone.

"Your boy won," he said to me upon his return. "Woss' that, ten in a row now?"

I nodded, beaming with pride at my old house.

"We'll 'ave another one on that, eh? Here, drink up."

And I received another tankard for my troubles.

That week, he talked to me a bit more.

"Woss' eatin' you then, kid?" he asked one evening midweek over another tankard of mead, this time my round.

I shrugged.

"Fucked it up, haven't I?" I said morosely.

"Don't get why," he said. "I get tha' you might get pissed off with all the cameras an' all, bu' throwin' punches? You could be on the biggest stage of 'em all, boy! Money, fame an' women tha' us mere mortals could only dream of! An' you go an' let your anger get in the way of it." He shook his head, bemused.

"I don't need the money," I said dully. "And I've already got fame enough, why do I need more?"

He shrugged. "Why become a Quidditch pro in the firs' place, then?"

"I didn't do it for the money or the fame," I said, looking up at him. "I did it because I love Quidditch. I love flying, I love the rush it gives me, I love how free it makes me feel. Quidditch is my _life_, it's all I know, it's all I'm good at-" I fell silent, thinking that I'd said too much.

He shook his head, looking bemused.

"But still, you 'ad it all, kid. You 'ad the world in the palm of your 'and!"

"But what if I didn't have it all?" I said glumly.

He didn't understand. How could he? He'd never had a taste of the money or the fame, he had no idea how empty it could make you feel. How worthless. How used. The Quidditch was me being _me_, doing things on my own terms. That was all that I wanted; freedom. And happiness.

But I'd lost my chance now.

By the next Falcons match, against Wimbourne, my mead-loving friend had all but given up on me as a Quidditch player. I was old news; Roxanne was his new favourite, his new best player, the one he'd back regardless. In fact, he'd placed even more money on a Falcons win than he had done for the two previous matches, along with a second bet on her personal score tally. He lost his second bet – she outscored his guess. If anything, that heightened his spirits even more, and he handed me my weekly tankard with near-infectious glee.

"Do you support the Falcons, then?" I asked him.

"I suppor' good teams, kid. Good Quidditch. I used to play in my day, you know. Beater, I was. Played for Hufflepuff though; we didn' 'ave a chance against the big boys. Good fun though. You know, I'd like to see you an' 'er play together one day." He gestured towards the television, and I knew he meant Roxanne.

"We used to," I said. "Four years on the Gryffindor team."

"Reckon it'll 'appen again?"

I shrugged sadly.

"I don't know."

He ended the conversation there, and left me to sink back into my dark thoughts.

* * *

><p>The next week started much the same as the previous three. Not many people frequented the Hog's Head on a Monday; they were generally sleeping off the weekend's festivities. Nevertheless, I turned up mid-morning. Nobody had come to bother me at my flat – the number of attempted visits had tailed off during the past few weeks, but people still tried, and so I figured the easiest thing to do was to just pre-empt them.<p>

The day passed in much the same way as those before. I sat at the bar and flicked through the _Prophet_, along with _Quidditch Weekly_ and even _Witch Weekly_ (why the Hog's Head even had a copy of the latest _Witch Weekly_, I wasn't sure). My name didn't crop up as frequently as it had in the weeks gone by; in fact, I was barely mentioned at all. It seemed as though the world was beginning to forget about me. It was the effect of the Hog's Head, I considered wryly.

As I folded up the _Prophet_ and cast it to one side, a shadow fell over me, and I heard a voice that I'd not heard in years.

"James Potter?"

My jaw dropped as I turned to face the person standing over me.

Ingrid Feversham had always been beautiful, infinitely more so than any other girl or woman I knew. In my mind, she even overshadowed my Veela relatives, probably because their looks almost seemed artificial. But Ingrid was perpetually, naturally, _wholly_ beautiful, and had been so right from the moment I'd first met her. She'd avoided the adolescent awkwardness which most other girls had gone through, and there had always been that special something about her, which never failed to draw people's attention.

I'd last seen her three years ago, when we'd said our awkward farewells, and I didn't think it was possible for her to have become more good-looking. Yet, here she was, standing beside me, with white-blonde hair, and those crystal blue eyes, those high cheekbones and full red lips, and that slightly haughty air about her.

"Ingrid?"

It was odd, to think we'd not seen each other since we'd left Hogwarts. I'd bumped into nearly everyone else from my year since we'd left, whether it was in Diagon Alley, at the Hinky, at a Quidditch match or even walking through Muggle London. But my path hadn't crossed Ingrid's in those years.

Her mouth formed a slight smile when I spoke, as though she'd been worried that I wouldn't recognise her. The thought was laughable; how could I _not_?

"May I join you?" she asked, in that soft voice of hers.

"Feel free." I shrugged and turned back to face the counter.

She slipped onto the stool next to mine.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you in a place like this," she said, a slight tone of intrigue to her voice.

"I could say the same," I pointed out, then paused, collecting my thoughts. "Right now, it feels as though this is the only place that I belong in. Are you really that surprised? You must have read the papers along with the rest of the country, seen what I've done."

"I don't believe everything I read in the tabloids," she said smoothly. "I know better than that."

Of course she did. Ingrid had been plagued by the tabloids ever since they'd cottoned onto her, when she'd started at Hogwarts. She'd had it far worse than I ever had, even now. Her mother was renowned for being a 'serial wife'. She had been wed several times, all to wealthy men, who'd died mysterious deaths not long into their marriages. Ingrid had never gotten on with her mother or approved of her marriages, but this was irrelevant to the media, who would rather the facts didn't get in the way of a good story.

"You wouldn't go far wrong in believing them this time," I said glumly, staring into the bottom of my empty glass.

It was her turn to pause.

"I didn't believe them," she said slowly, "because the James Potter they portrayed didn't seem to be anything like the James Potter I knew so well."

"People change," I said with a shrug.

"Perhaps." A third pause. "You always wanted to play Quidditch, though. Right from the start, when I first met you, that was what you said you wanted to do. You were _determined_ to make it. That was one of the things I liked about you, that you knew what you wanted to achieve and would go to nearly any lengths to achieve it. I admired that drive. And yet, here you sit, with the potential to be playing in a World Cup, but instead drinking foul alcohol in a foul pub. And I refuse to believe that you just changed your mind on your career choice."

"But what if I did?" I turned to face her. "What if I decided, enough was enough, that I was fed up of all the attention and the praise and the criticism and just ... decided to pack it in?"

Her eyes flickered, and a tiny smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.

"James Potter doesn't just 'pack things in'. He doesn't give up. But James Potter _does_ get frustrated at receiving attention for the wrong reasons..."

She'd always been far too perceptive. Or perhaps she recognised in others the frustration she felt herself at being unable to escape the shadow of a parent.

Or perhaps she just remembered how I'd confided in her about this frustration, that it was one of the things that had drawn us together.

"I..." I hesitated. "There's a girl..."

Ingrid frowned, seeming puzzled as to where the conversation was going.

"She's a Muggle, and-"

"Oh, can I believe the papers on this one, too? Continue."

"She ... she found out about Dad. About Voldemort. I'd kept it all from her, because ... I don't know why. I guess I liked that she _didn't_ know about all he'd done, that the reason people know my name is because of _him_, not _my_ achievements. That she liked me for who I was. And she found out, from reading the bloody _Prophet_. And ... she didn't like that I'd kept it from her. Said I'd disrespected him..."

I turned away from Ingrid, back to the bar again.

"It's just ... it's Dad again, isn't it? I can't bloody escape him. Everything people say about me, it can't be said on merit, people can't appreciate that I've done this by myself, that I've not had Dad's support and backing in this at all. They have to mention him, and his achievements, and how I was _bound_ to get where I am now with someone like him as a dad, and it's like I'm being discredited, like I always am-"

She reached out and placed her hands on mine, which were firmly gripped around my glass.

"You don't want to do that, or the consequences will be very painful," she said gently.

I let go of the glass, and she removed it from my reach. I stared numbly at my hands for a moment, not sure what to say.

"Whose opinions in this world truly matter to you?"

I blinked, taken aback by the unusual question.

"I – what?"

"Answer it. Whose opinions do you _really _value?"

"My ... my friends and family, of course-"

"And do _you_ think they think you got there on merit?"

I thought of Freddie's beaming smile every time we won a game, of Brigid's proud smile, thought of Al, and Lily, and Rose, and Lucy, and Aunt Audrey, and _Mum_...

"But what does that matter?"

"One thing I've learned is that you just have to ignore what the tabloids say. They're not important. If people want to think your parentage got you where you are, then let them. They clearly don't know you at all. But _I_ know you, or at least I know the man you were growing up to become, and _I_ know that you're _not_ just your father's son. You're an incredible person in your own right, and all your achievements are down to your hard work. Good genes help, admittedly, but just having parents who've done it all doesn't mean you can automatically do it yourself. And you haven't, you've done it because you've worked for it." She paused. "This girl ... she must mean a lot to you, to get you so worked up?"

I shifted slightly on my stool.

"Yeah ... yeah, I guess she does. She's _different_ from most others, you know? And I don't just mean because she doesn't hero-worship my family, I mean she has this _drive_, and she's confident, and funny, and so relaxing to be with, and..."

"She sounds like she's quite something," Ingrid said quietly.

"Yeah. She is. You'd like her."

"If she's got you this hung up, I'm sure I would." She smiled slightly. "So why are you here, then? Why aren't you with her?"

I laughed bitterly.

"She doesn't want a thing to do with me. She thinks I'm disrespectful, that I don't trust her, that I don't think anything of her ... and she's right! I should have told her from the start about Dad, and now it just looks like I think as little of her as I do of all the other girls, the fame-hungry ones, it looks as though I thought she'd just become like them-"

"And did you think that?"

"Of course not!" I burst out. "I ... I just wanted to keep it like it was, you know? Without Dad's fame getting in the way."

"You can't run from it, you know," she said quietly. "It will always be there, your father's past. He's a living legend. Of course people will think of him when they see you, or hear of you. But that brings me back to my point; you're still letting those people bother you, the unimportant people, who have no right to say what they say or to dictate what you do."

Her voice was becoming stronger, more passionate, and I knew exactly why.

"You think I let them dictate my life too much?"

"I understand the difficulties of being thrust into the public eye so thoroughly." Her voice fell quieter again.

"But I gave in. I let them put pressure on me, like I did before-"

"We _both_ did then. Besides, we were eighteen, we didn't deserve the pressure, we didn't know how to deal with it." She shrugged. "Everything was conspiring against us, anyway; we were bound to hit at least one wall."

"They're idiots, you know. All those people who didn't like you. They never got to properly know you like I did-"

"You do realise you're calling your brother and your best friend idiots-"

"I know. And they were. I told you not to take what they thought to heart..."

"It's different when they're people you care about though, isn't it?" She bit her lip. "It's all in the past though, isn't it? We've both moved on ... I'd say we're both happy, but given our environment..."

It was only now that I _properly_ looked at Ingrid. In some ways, she looked exactly the same as I remembered her, but in other ways, she was so different from the girl I'd dated for four years. Her eyes lacked that sparkle they used to have; her skin seemed duller than before; the corners of her mouth turned down more than they used to; and she had heavy bags under her eyes.

And the Hog's Head certainly wasn't the type of place she'd normally frequent.

"Life not treating you so well?" I asked gently.

She smiled sadly.

"I've met a guy."

"Oh?"

"I met him not long after we left school. I was upset that we'd broken up, and that Mother was so angry about it, because she'd always _dreamed_ of being a part of the Potter family, and I was frustrated with _her_, and how she'd messed my life up just by being my mother, and giving me such a reputation ... and then Mark came along. And he didn't give a damn who my mother was, or that I'd been with you, or about _anything_ that any of the tabloids had said, and he taught me not to care. I guess it's kind of the same as with your girl, except that he knew it all from the start and still didn't care. And ... that meant a lot. I guess it all stemmed from there, really..."

"Well, that sounds good..."

She scoffed.

"Yeah, it is, until you factor in the fact that Mother disowned me for falling in love with a muggleborn with no prospects. Which wouldn't bother me if it hadn't left me near enough broke. I've had to juggle two jobs to help pay the rent."

I felt a surge of anger towards Ingrid's mother, whom I'd never been fond of in the first place. It was the likes of her that still gave Slytherin House its bad name.

"But you're happy with him?"

"Well, yes. But I won't _be_ 'with him' for much longer. He's dying, James."

I was taken aback.

"I – what?"

"Ever heard of cancer?" she said bitterly.

Cancer wasn't as widespread an illness within the wizarding world as it was in the Muggle world. It seemed there was something in a wizard's genes which made most magical people near enough immune to it.

But not completely immune. And it seemed as if Ingrid's fellow was one of those who wasn't quite so immune as the rest of us.

And although it was unlikely somebody close to me would develop it, I still knew that 'cancer' meant 'bad'.

"Is ... is it serious, then?" I mentally kicked myself for asking such a stupid question, even as I said it.

"They thought he was cured when he met me. He told me so himself. And then, about a year ago ... it came back. Or maybe it never _went_. I don't know. Either way, he went downhill fast, and now there's nothing anyone can do. He ... he's got months left, at best, they say." She fiercely wiped a tear from her cheek. "So ... yeah. Life's not treating me so well."

I was speechless for a moment.

"And here I am moping about how my dad's more famous than me-"

"No! Don't, James ... I'm sorry, I don't want you to feel like ... like your problem is less important than mine-"

"But it is, isn't it?"

She shrugged.

"I love him more than anything else in the world. And I know he feels the same. But we both _know_ that, and that makes it slightly more bearable. Yours is an entirely different problem, they're not at all comparable."

But I wasn't so sure I believed that. A few moments ago, I was feeling better about things. But now ... well, who was I to sit and mope about the cards I'd been dealt, when my problems were a whole load of nothing? The worst bit was, the only thing this realisation made me want to do was mope some more.

Ingrid sighed.

"We're a right pair, aren't we?" She placed her hand on the back of my neck for a moment, leaning over and kissing my cheek. "We'll be alright, Jimmy. _You'll_ be alright."

She turned to get the attention of the barman.

I smiled slightly at her use of the nickname which she'd coined all those years ago. Despite the fact that nearly everyone I knew now called me that, it still sounded different from her. It felt _special_.

I wished I could do something to help her. But then, if I couldn't even help myself, how could I possibly help somebody else?

She slid a drink in front of me.

"You want my advice?" she said. "It sounds to me like you miss this girl."

I smiled slightly, looking down at the glass.

"You have no idea."

"Then do what you do best. Fight for what you want. Go after this girl, tell her how much she means to you, tell her that you want to be with her. You need to know what you want out of your life before you can start living it. You have a big heart, and all you want to do is _love_ people. So let yourself do that, and then you can start living properly. Don't run away from who you are, Jimmy. Embrace it. Be the best you that you can be. And then, everything will fall into place for you."

I wanted to believe her. But right now, I didn't know if I could.


	35. thirty-five

She visited earlier than people generally did. Perhaps that was how she outsmarted me.

Or it might have been because I'd become attuned to hearing even the faintest _pop_ of Apparition or roar of my fireplace, but the simple turn of a key in a lock was a far quieter and less obtrusive form of entry.

As such, she'd managed to open my bedroom door and turn the light on before I realised I had company. The only reason I didn't Disapparate away the moment I realised that someone had intruded my privacy was that I was paralysed by shock at who it was.

Well, partly that, and partly the fact that I wasn't wearing anything. I knew that the Hog's Head had lower standards than other places but I thought it highly likely that even they'd throw me out in a trice if I turned up in my birthday suit.

But that was a secondary concern to me right now; my only thought was about the woman standing in front of me.

Carlotta.

It had been five weeks since I'd last seen her, and it was as though I'd forgotten how stunning she really was.

"Carla..." I croaked.

Her arm was shaking slightly, I suddenly realised. It reminded me of the day that I'd told her all about magic; it had done the same then, too. I reached out towards it, but she took a step backwards, out of my reach.

"Get up, and have a shower," she said slowly and quietly, as though she was making sure I heard her right. "Now."

I blindly obeyed her, rolling out of bed and stumbling into the bathroom. It wasn't until I'd gotten under the shower and turned the water on that I could begin to think clearly. It was as if the scalding water was washing away the shock of her appearance, along with five weeks' worth of alcohol and sour thoughts.

I had no idea why she was here. I'd thought she'd wanted nothing more to do with me, and yet here she was in my flat.

It struck me that this was my chance to talk to her, to tell her how I felt – but how _did_ I feel? Did I really want to be with her, properly?

_Yes_. That was a ridiculously easy question to answer. I hadn't felt like this about anyone since I'd broken things off with Ingrid. It was partly because I hadn't _let_ myself; I'd been too scared of being used, of girls wanting the fame and the money. With Ingrid, I'd never needed to worry about that; she would never have even considered dating someone for their name or wealth. But all the girls since – Cassie, Vivienne, Astrid, the list went on – had only ever been interested for one reason. It hadn't taken me long to learn that it was safer to just not get attached. And it hadn't been all that hard to stop myself; the constant fawning was utterly nauseating.

But Carlotta had never fawned. Perhaps that was why I'd let myself get so attached.

I turned the shower off, and made my mind up about what I was going to do. I was going to tell her. Just _what_ I was going to tell her, I wasn't sure, but I couldn't let her slip away, not again. And then it crossed my mind that she might have left while I'd been showering.

I opened the door, not even bothering to dry myself – and came to a halt in the doorway as a wonderful smell hit me. She was cooking me breakfast. I smiled to myself, pushing the door shut again and grabbing my towel.

She cared. On some level, she cared. That had to say something.

Once I was dry I headed back to my room to get dressed, and then followed the smell of food to the kitchen. Carlotta was placing a plate piled with food onto the table, and she looked up at me as I reached the doorway.

"Eat," she said in the same quiet voice, pointing to the plate.

"Carla, I-"

"Eat first. Talk later."

I was tempted to disagree, but my stomach begged for me to tuck in. I'd been living on Hog's Head food for three weeks, which was edible at best, and didn't hold a candle to Carlotta's fry-ups.

I sat down and tucked in, as she busied herself tidying up the kitchen. I thought she might leave once she'd finished, but she leant against the counter opposite me, arms folded, and watched me eat. Her arm was still twitching. Once I'd finished, she silently took the plate from me and washed it up.

"Go and see your parents," she then said to me. She was still talking slowly; it felt as though she was talking to an invalid. "They love you. They just want what's best for you. Sort things out with them, first, and then things won't seem so bad."

"How do you know I need to sort things out with them?"

The side of her mouth twitched, as though she'd been about to smile slightly.

"I knew from the start there was ill-feeling between you and your father. It doesn't take a genius to know there's something you need to fix. Both of you. You think the world is against you; it's not. It really isn't. Just make things better with him, and they can help you fix everything else."

I frowned.

"Everything else? What do you know about everything else? I – why are you even _here_ all of a sudden?"

She shook her head.

"I can't answer that."

"What do you mean, you can't answer-"

"Why I'm here isn't important. Smarten yourself up, and then go to see your dad."

She made as if to leave. My eyes widened as I got to my feet, desperate to say my piece.

"No, wait! You can't go-"

"I have work," she said in that same slow, quiet voice, not stopping as she spoke.

Of course she did. It was Tuesday. She worked on Tuesdays. And Wednesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. I didn't know how I'd remembered that, but I remembered all the same.

"Please, don't leave!" I pleaded. "I don't want you to leave, I ... I _need_ you, please..."

She stopped in the doorway, her hand on the frame.

"No, you don't," she said, not turning to face me. "You just think you do. You just ... you just cling to people too much. That's all it is. I need to go to work-"

"No, it's not like that! It's more than that, let me explain-"

I stumbled across the kitchen, reached out and grabbed her wrist, but she pulled away, retreating into the living room.

"No, it's not!" she said. "It's not James, it's really not! You don't need me at all, just go to see your parents and leave me alone!"

That came out much faster; so fast the words were slurred and it was almost impossible to decipher them. I frowned, the fear of her leaving becoming a secondary worry.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

She laughed slightly, still backtracking to the door.

"_You're_ worried that _I'm_ not okay?" Her speech was slow again, more controlled. "I'm fine. You're not. Visit your dad. Sort it out. And please, just ... leave me."

"I'm sorry," I blurted out, desperate to get my point across. "I should have told you, I was wrong to keep it from you, I was wrong to say what I said..."

Now she allowed a sad smile to spread across her face.

"I know." Her voice was almost a whisper. "It's okay. I understand. You don't need to apologise. But I..." She stood there a moment, looking as though she was deliberating with herself about something, but she said no more.

And then she left.

And I let her.

I shook my head, exasperated with myself. I trudged back into the kitchen, where I noticed my spare key sitting on the worktop. I smiled slightly, picking it up and turning it over and over between my fingers.

I didn't understand her. At all. She wasn't mad at me for not telling her about Dad; that was a good thing. But she wanted me to leave her alone ... that was less easy to work out.

And why had she come here in the first place?

I sat back in the chair I'd sat in while eating. Her presence, along with the shower and good food, had cleared my head slightly, and allowed me to think properly for the first time in weeks.

I wanted to sort things out with Mum, that was a given. But my relationship with Dad had been on a downhill spiral for nearly ten years. While I at least thought we'd hit rock bottom and couldn't make things _worse_, I also failed to see how they could get better. I'd drawn my wand on him! He was my father, my flesh and blood, and all I'd wanted to do was hurt him. I couldn't do it. I couldn't go to see him, not now. What would I say?

And once more I remembered being a scared little boy, soothed only by being in Dad's comforting, loving embrace...

I buried my head in my arms, and screwed my eyes tight shut.

I'd been an idiot. A blind, foolish idiot. And I had no idea what to do now, to fix what I'd done wrong. But parents _always_ knew best, especially mine.

I was going to have to swallow my pride and bite the bullet a lot if I wanted to resolve things with my family and get myself reinstated onto the Quidditch team. And putting it off wasn't going to help my cause.

So I got to my feet, grabbed my wand, some money and an appeasement tactic, and left my flat.

* * *

><p>The minute the door opened, I stuck my foot in the gap. I knew Dad could easily remove it, but it was at least a signal of intent.<p>

He raised an eyebrow when he saw me, but otherwise his facial expression remained unreadable.

"James," he said.

"Can I come in?" I said quickly. My heart was thudding so quickly and loudly that I felt certain he would be able to hear it.

His eyes fell to my hands, and the bottle of mead I was carrying.

"You can't just turn up with a bottle of mead and hope that makes everything better," he said calmly.

"I know, but I figured it was worth a try. If you don't want it, I'll take it home and drink it myself."

"I hardly think you need any more alcohol in your system."

"Looks like you'll have to take it off my hands then." I smiled feebly.

He sighed, and opened the door wider, standing back to let me in.

"Your mother's out," he said as I stepped over the threshold.

My heart sank slightly. I knew Mum would be easier to apologise to than Dad, and so I'd hoped that facing them together would make my task with Dad a little easier.

He led me into the kitchen and sat down at the head of the table, the seat he had always taken when I lived in the house. I sat opposite him.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out after a moment's silence. "I shouldn't have drawn my wand on you."

His mouth twitched slightly.

"No, it wasn't a very wise move," he said.

"I don't know why I did it," I admitted. "It was hardly as though I could overpower you."

"You've got an Outstanding in your Defence Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T.; that's more than I do."

"Yes, but you've got 'Defeated Voldemort' on your C.V. And besides..." I shifted awkwardly in my seat. "I didn't deserve that O."

"Interesting time to show some modesty," he said coolly.

I looked down at my fingers, which were intertwined, resting on the table.

"I mean it," I said. I swallowed the lump that had appeared in my throat. "I shouldn't have got that O. Or _any_ of the results I got. I didn't work hard enough, I shouldn't have got those results."

"James..."

"I'm serious!" I looked up at him, desperate for him to understand. "Ask Brie, she'll tell you the same. I barely revised! I didn't _want_ good results; I wanted to fail!"

I held his gaze for a moment, before looking back down at my hands.

"James..." he said again. "Why did you want to fail?"

I closed my eyes.

"Because ... because ... I wanted everyone to know I'm not you," I said, my voice little more than a whisper.

There was another awkward pause, and then he let out a sigh. I looked up to see his forehead resting in his hands.

"When we found out Lily was a Squib, I felt so sorry for her. I wondered how she'd fit in, I wondered if she'd cope in the Muggle world. But ... all this time, it wasn't her I should have been worrying about. It was you and Albus." He looked up at me. "I'm sorry-"

"It's not your fault some Seer made a prophecy about you," I said, shrugging.

"Not about that. I should have known you'd have pressure on you. I should have recognised that you couldn't cope with the attention and the pressure. I'm your _father_, for Merlin's sake, that's supposed to be my job. And instead I focused on Lily, and just stood by as you messed your life up, convincing myself you could manage yourself, that you didn't need me, that if you _did_ then you'd come to me, when it was plainly obvious that of the three of you, _you_ needed me the most." He paused. "_I'm _the one who should be apologising here, not you. You've done nothing wrong-"

"I let myself go off the rails!" I said, my eyes wide. "I lost Mum her job! I-"

"You didn't lose Mum her job," he interrupted. "Many other young men and women would have caved under the pressure you've been under years ago. I should have realised this, and I didn't. Please, James, forgive me."

"Only if you forgive me for being an idiot," I replied.

He smiled slightly.

"James, you weren't an idiot. Trust me, there's nothing for you to apologise for." He paused. "You're not the only one who ever felt alone in this world, you know."

I looked at him, bemused.

"In my Fifth Year, when people refused to believe that Voldemort was back, I felt completely alienated. But I wasn't. I had Ron and Hermione, and your mother, and your whole family. And you have us too. Not to mention Brigid and Ryan and the rest of your team. You don't have to do this alone."

I closed my eyes.

"My problems sound pathetic next to yours," I muttered. "I mean, a Dark Lord! What's a girl and a bit of media pressure compared to the worst Dark Lord who ever lived?"

"No, they're not comparable. But that doesn't trivialise your problems at all, Jimmy."

It was the first time he'd ever called me that.

"I'm one of a kind, remember? My whole life is incomparable with anyone else's." He grinned cheekily for a moment, before his face resumed its previous expression. "Everyone loses sight of who they are occasionally. You don't have to be ashamed of that. You just have to stay on track, to try to discover who you _really_ are."

"It's just ... hard. You know? I mean, everyone expects me to do what you've done. And if I fail, then I'm a failure, and if I succeed, then it's no big deal anyway because you've already done it..."

"We don't expect that of you," he said quietly. "Anyone who does clearly doesn't care about you. I'd never wish what I've been through on anyone. You're not me, James. You're you. And I'm proud of you."

I looked up at him, a smile spreading across my face.

"You... you are? You really are?"

He smiled sadly.

"Of course I am. How could I not be? Look at what you've achieved. An England call up!"

"Yeah, and look what I did with that chance," I muttered.

"Everyone makes mistakes. It's just about how you rectify them. Just remember, you're _not_ alone."

He was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.

"That'll be your mother," he said. "I don't think she needs to know about the N.E.W.T. situation, does she?" he added quietly.

I grinned.

"Thanks, Dad," I said.

"Diagon Alley was _manic_!" Mum said, entering the kitchen, laden with bags. "I can't think why-"

She paused as her eyes fell on me.

"Hi, Mum," I said, smiling nervously.

Her hand found her mouth and she stared at me for a moment, as though she was unsure as to whether she was really seeing me.

"James," she whispered after a moment. "Oh, James..."

She let the bags drop to the floor and swiftly crossed the kitchen to me, pulling me into a tight hug. I wrapped my arms round her and buried my head in her shoulder, inhaling the flowery scent that was so comforting.

"I'm sorry I shut the door on you," I whispered, closing my eyes tight shut. "It was horrible of me, I shouldn't have done it..."

"It's okay, sweetie, it's okay," she reassured me, planting a soft kiss on my head. "You're here now, and that's all that matters."

At that moment, I felt so much love and gratitude towards my parents that I thought my chest might burst.

She pulled away and held me out at arm's length. "Oh, baby, you look so thin, you must have barely been eating! You'll stay here for dinner, won't you? I'll cook you something nourishing-"

"I've booked you a table in that posh Muggle restaurant by the Leaky," I interrupted. "You and Dad. For tonight. At seven. I know you like it there..."

Tears welled in her eyes.

"Come with us," she said.

"No, I don't want to intrude-"

"James," she said firmly, "your father and I eat together almost every night. I've not seen you _properly_ for five weeks. Come on, come with us. Please?"

I glanced at Dad, who'd gotten up from the table to pick up the bags she'd dropped and was now leaning against the kitchen counter. He nodded in agreement.

"Okay." I turned back to her. "I'll come."

She beamed.

"I'll ring Al and Lily!" she said. "We'll make it a family outing. I'm sure they'd love to come..." She turned to consult the notice board on the wall next to her. "Lily's next exam is next week, she can have a night off. Oh, they'll be so happy to know you're alright!"

She dashed off to the living room, presumably to call them both.

"You know, your mother never used to be so emotional," Dad said conversationally. "I blame it on you kids. It's clearly motherhood that's done it."

"Yeah, blame us, sounds about right." I rolled my eyes.

He laughed and threw me a pumpkin pasty, which I caught deftly. He sat back at the table, next to me instead of opposite me, with a pasty of his own.

"What _exactly_ happened?" he asked softly.

I didn't need to ask what he was referring to.

"She found out," I said, frowning at my pasty, which I had placed on the table in front of me.

"Carlotta?"

I nodded.

"What did she find out?"

I bit my lip.

"I ... I hadn't told her about you," I said. "About how you defeated Voldemort and ... and stuff. She knew about him, that there'd been Muggle persecution, but I hadn't told her the whole thing. And then, the day I got called into the England squad, she read the _Prophet,_ and…and she yelled at me, then left."

There was a pregnant pause, as I stared fiercely at my pasty, refusing to look up and meet his eyes.

"Why didn't you tell her before?" he asked finally.

I shrugged.

"I guess ... I guess I liked the fact that she didn't have any preconceptions of me, or any ambitions to suck up because of my surname. And ... telling her about you would mean admitting that ... that I could do better, that maybe what I've done isn't really all that special. I guess it was partly a case of letting my ego get in the way. And ... well, I just wanted to avoid it all, really..." I tailed off.

"And she got angry about it?"

His tone was one of puzzlement. I looked up at him, to find him looking at me concernedly.

"I think it was partly because I'd already held something back from her," I said. "I mean, when I first explained magic to her, I didn't tell her about the Muggle persecution. She understood why, when I _did_ tell her, but she asked if there was anything else I thought she needed to know. And I thought about telling her about you, and Uncle Ron, and Aunt Hermione ... but I chickened out. And so when she found out ... well, to her it was just something else I hadn't told her. And she said I'd disrespected you too..."

"No you didn't, don't be daft," he said reassuringly. "So ... that was why you started drinking? Because Carlotta left?"

I sighed heavily, and looked back down at the table, which was much easier to talk to than Dad's face.

"I guess ... I guess her words kind of hit home. Made me think about things too much..."

I broke off part of the pasty crust and stuffed it in my mouth.

"I've been so worried," Dad said quietly, his tone so dark it took me by surprise. "I've been calling at your flat every day, and you weren't there. I was far too hard on you; I thought anger would work, but it just made things worse. What you really needed was a comforting arm round the shoulders. And the next time I arrived, you weren't _there_, and nobody had any idea where you'd gone or what had happened to you ... everyone was so worried about you, and it was my fault..."

I looked up to see he had his head in his hands again, and was gripping his hair tightly.

"No, it wasn't," I said, reaching out and touching his arm lightly. "I just didn't want to see anyone. I wanted to be alone..."

He looked up at me.

"Where did you go?"

"The Hog's Head."

"The whole time?"

I nodded; he shook his head incredulously.

"And to think, your brother and sister were so close only a week ago..."

I smiled wryly, thinking about the Hogwarts Quidditch match. And then I frowned.

"You didn't go?"

He shook his head.

"I was at the Falcons match. Been to the last three. I guess I was hoping you might show up to watch one, and that I'd see you there..."

I couldn't stop the tears from welling in my eyes. And then he reached over and hugged me, for the first time in years. I buried my head in his shoulder and inhaled his familiar smell, which triggered all sorts of childhood memories.

"I'm so proud of you," he said quietly. "For _everything_. And the fact that you're here now, that you've gotten yourself out of your funk..."

"But I didn't," I said, frowning and pulling away. "Carla did. She visited, made me have a shower, restocked my kitchen, cooked me breakfast and then left. I tried talking to her, tried to sort things out, but she wouldn't listen."

Dad looked puzzled.

"How did _Carlotta_ know something was up?"

I shrugged.

"Beats me," I said. "She wouldn't say. Barely said a thing. But I think that whatever it was we _had_ between us, it's gone now."

"I don't think you should give up quite so easily," he said quietly. "You seemed happy with her, happier than we've seen you for a while. She's worth the leg work, don't you think?"

My mouth twitched as my thoughts switched to Carlotta's legs.

"They're both coming!" Mum joined us in the kitchen. "We're meeting them at ten to seven outside the restaurant."

I groaned, my head dropping into my hands. I was worried about what they'd say, whether _they'd_ accept my apologies.

"It'll all be fine," she said soothingly. "Don't worry."

I hoped she was right.

* * *

><p>"Stop fidgeting!" Mum hissed, slapping my hand down from my hair. "Honestly, you're worse than your father."<p>

"She's going to tear me to shreds!" I moaned.

"Don't be so melodramatic," she said, rolling her eyes. "She's not _that_ scary-"

"You would say that, it's your temper she's inherited!"

"He's got a point," Dad added, prompting a glare from Mum.

"There they are!" she said suddenly, pointing up the road towards the Leaky Cauldron.

Nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.

"James!"

Lily ran up to me and threw her arms round my neck, knocking me several steps backward.

"I _knew_ it would work!" she exclaimed.

"Knew _what_ would work?" I asked, hugging her back.

She pulled away, looking slightly sheepish.

"Wait a minute..." My brain was clicking into gear. "Did _you_ visit Carlotta?"

"Don't be mad..." She twirled a strand of hair round her finger, a sign that she was nervous. "I mean, it got you up, didn't it?"

I grinned at her.

"Thanks, Lil," I said, ruffling up her hair; she squealed and slapped my hand away.

I then turned to Al. I'd been horrible to him, he had every right to refuse to have anything to do with me...

"It's good to have you back," he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so much love for my family.

Mum and Dad refused to let me pay for dinner. I'd tried to argue my case, but Mum had put her foot down, and in the end I had to concede defeat; winning an argument with Mum was a near impossibility.

"You going to visit Brie?" Lily asked as we sat at a table at the Leaky, waiting for Maddie to let Lily know when Mrs Atkinson's house was free for her to Floo back to.

"That's tomorrow's job." I grimaced at the thought. "Can't say I'm looking forward to that one."

"You'll be fine." Lily took a slurp from her Butterbeer tankard.

"I said some _really_ horrible things to her..."

"She'll be fine. She's been worried sick about you, as well. Just say your piece; she'll understand. How did things go with Carla, anyway?"

"Not amazingly," I said gloomily, staring into my own tankard. "She didn't seem interested in sorting things out."

"But you want to?"

I shrugged.

"I guess," I said. "I mean, she's more than any of the other girls were, she's a friend as well ... well, she _was_..."

She giggled.

"I think you've met your match, James Potter," she said gleefully. "Go see her in a few weeks. I think she's worth the trouble, whatever arrangement comes of it. She can actually handle you, which is something I thought only Brie could do – well, and me, of course." She grinned cheekily. "What about Freddie?"

"Brie first," I said. "Freddie will be ... not more understanding, necessarily, but ... well, I hurt Brie more."

Lily nodded in agreement.

"Also, the sooner you make things up with Brie, the sooner you can get back to playing Quidditch." She paused. "Dad told me what you said, about him mollycoddling me."

I winced. "I didn't mean that, I-"

"Thank you," she said sincerely. My jaw dropped. "He needed to hear it from someone. I'm happy, James, I'm perfectly happy. I'm proud of who I am. You see that, but I don't think he did before. But he knows now. I know that he was looking out for my best interests, and maybe I needed that at first, but I can stand on my own two feet now. You've helped him to realise that. So ... thank you."

A bleep from her phone interrupted us before I could respond.

"Maddie says the coast is clear." She drained her tankard and got to her feet. "It's really nice to see you better, Jim."

"Yeah." I finished my own Butterbeer, got up and pulled her into a one-armed hug. "Thanks, Lil."

"Anything for my favourite eldest brother."

I was suddenly reminded of something.

"How are the exams coming along?"

"Pretty good." She nodded. "Two left, next week, so fingers crossed."

"Good luck with them."

"Good luck to you too." She shot me one last smile, before vanishing in the vivid green flames.


	36. thirty-six

I changed my mind in the end, and decided to visit Freddie first, _then_ Brigid. I was trying to convince myself there was a reason for this, that having Freddie on side first would help my case with Brigid.

In reality, I was absolutely petrified of seeing her and was just trying to put it off for as long as possible.

So I headed to Freddie's place early in the morning, before he left for work. His face was a picture when he opened the door and saw me standing there.

"Bloody..." he gaped. And then he pulled me into a hug.

"I didn't think we were the man hug type," I joked, reciprocating all the same.

"I've been so worried about you, mate!" he said. "I mean, you lamped that bloke, and then you just _vanished_! None of us had any idea what had happened to you..."

"I just needed to get away," I said simply.

And I think he understood.

He ushered me inside, and shut the front door behind me.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out the moment we'd sat down. "Going out was a bad idea. Brigid told me off the moment she found out; she said it was really irresponsible..."

"No, it wasn't," I interrupted him. "You were the only person who knew I didn't want to be shouted at. We were just unlucky, that was all. Don't blame yourself for it." I paused. "You've, er ... have you talked to Brigid much lately?"

"Course I have! We've both been worried sick about where you went! She feels really guilty, she's blaming herself for what happened..."

"Bet she's still angry with me, though," I said gloomily.

He winced. "Little bit."

"I need to see her next. Get things sorted out with her, and then get myself back on the team..."

"Just be honest with her." He shrugged. "Apologise to her, but make sure she knows if you're still upset with her about something."

I frowned.

"You don't need to beat about the bush, mate. Spit it out."

He shifted uneasily in his seat.

"She told me what you'd yelled at her about. I ... I don't think she realised that you were still upset about the whole Ingrid thing. And to be honest, neither did I."

I'd known that was going to come up eventually. How could it not?

"Can you blame me, though?" I said quietly. "What she did was wrong. _You_ know it was."

He had a pained expression on his face. I knew the reason for it all too well.

"It's not as though I'm the only one who still resents her for it," I added.

"Yes, but I've moved on from it all-"

"But _have_ you?" I prompted.

We'd never talked about it before, not _properly_. Freddie hadn't wanted to, so I hadn't wanted to push him. In fact, we'd never really talked about anything with each other before. It just wasn't how our friendship worked. I tended to go to Teddy, and Freddie ... well, he'd always gone to Brigid, when we'd been back at school. Their friendship had always been different from the one I shared with either of them. They'd seemed to understand each other on another level. That was why it had become so clear, by our Sixth Year, that they'd get together one day. It was inevitable ... surely?

Ingrid had thrown a spanner into the works though. I'd started seeing her in Fourth Year, and Brigid had hated the idea from the start. At first she'd thought I was just pitying the Slytherin loner, cast aside because of her mother's infamy. But then she realised it _wasn't_ just pity, and that was when she'd decided that it was all a ploy of Ingrid's, to snag the eldest Potter boy.

Her dislike hadn't been that strong at first. She'd made it clear to me she didn't like the situation, but she'd tried her hardest to be cordial towards Ingrid; I guessed I should at least be grateful to her for _that_.

But then, in the spring of our Seventh Year, it all went wrong. She'd clearly been hoping it was just a teenage romance, and I'd eventually end it. But instead, Ingrid and I started talking about moving in together, and even looking at places.

To give Brigid a bit of credit, it wasn't all her doing. Far from it. The media had played their part marvellously from the start, and Albus in particular had been just as disapproving. In fact, Ingrid's biggest fan had possibly been Lily, who, frustratingly, had been hundreds of miles away from us throughout the whole sorry affair.

Brigid had snapped. Utterly paranoid about Ingrid's motives, she'd taken me to task over the entire relationship.

And I'd crumbled. In this instance, my backbone abandoned me. And I ended it.

Unfortunately for all three of us though, Freddie's backbone hadn't abandoned him. He'd never had a problem with Ingrid, and Brigid's disapproval had only endeared her to him more. He'd always felt anything that made me happy was a good thing for me.

Perhaps Brigid just tried looking out for me too much, perhaps she became too determined that she knew better than me, that I'd lost my way and she was my only voice of reason. Freddie, on the other hand, always chose to step back, to let me be happy or to make my own mistakes.

And when it all came to a head, he stepped forwards.

I remembered being thankful Ingrid wasn't a Gryffindor, that she hadn't had to sit in the common room and endure what was said. It had been a horrific argument, played out in front of the entire house. And I'd been a coward, unable to say anything, knowing what was going to happen but completely unable to put a stop to it.

They'd both said some awful things. Freddie had accused Brigid of being jealous of Ingrid's looks. Unsurprisingly, she hadn't taken too well to that. She'd accused him of wanting Ingrid for himself, which had gone down just as well.

And their imminent romance had been pulled to shreds before it had gotten off the ground.

The battle lines had been drawn that night. Albus and Rose sided with Brigid, Roxanne and Louis with Freddie. Lucy and Hugo had refused to get involved.

And so had I.

I still remembered Freddie's look of betrayal when I'd refused to back him up. He'd just stood up for me, fought my corner, and yet I wasn't standing in it with him. And Brigid had been furious with me too; she'd done this for _my_ good, and I still couldn't see that.

But I just couldn't bring myself to pick a side. Freddie and Brigid had been all I'd ever known during my time at Hogwarts. We were being pulled to pieces, and I couldn't bring myself to face it. It was as though I thought that if I pretended nothing had happened, it would all be okay in the end.

We'd never made up properly. Maybe that was the problem: why things had come to the surface again; why Brigid and Freddie still had their troubles.

Ironically, it was thanks to a Slytherin – Eoin Lynch, of all people – that we'd patched things up at all. He'd tried to make a move on Brigid after the last Quidditch match of the season. She'd refused – so he'd tried harder.

I'd been closer to them, but Freddie had run faster. As it was, we'd gotten there at the same time, and he pinned Lynch's arms back while I punched him.

And it was as though nothing had happened between us. Nothing was said to anyone; we just went back to the way we used to be.

Except, we didn't. Not really. We'd all been in the wrong; I could see that now. But none of us had admitted this. We all seemed to think we didn't _need_ to talk about what had happened, what had – and hadn't – been said.

And because of that, I hadn't realised how much I still resented Brigid for convincing me to let Ingrid go. It had been buried, only to come to the surface when things had gone wrong with Carlotta, the only girl since who'd rivalled Ingrid – who was _better_ than Ingrid.

And I hadn't realised how much that argument between Freddie and Brigid still lingered. Was that why he'd been holding back all this time?

Freddie was still looking agonised.

"I said some awful stuff to her, Jim." His voice was almost a whisper.

"So did she," I pointed out.

"But I started it. I got myself involved ... I just flipped, you know? She's great, until she starts thinking _she_ knows best, and then she becomes totally blind to anything else! And I was fed up, that she couldn't see you were happy with Ingrid, that she seemed to think it was her business ... and she's not _learned_! She's still doing it, even now! And then when I'm _not_ telling you I think something's a bad idea, it's not because I've decided to leave it up to you, it's because I'm clearly irresponsible!" He waved his hands in the air in frustration. "Merlin, I ... I don't _know_, Jim. But then, I _love_ that about her at the same time; she cares so much about everyone else, and she really does want to help ... she just takes it too far! That's why I always thought her being your agent was a bad idea."

"You never said that before," I frowned.

"It would hardly have gone down well with either of you, would it?" he pointed out. "Not right after we'd all started talking again. But..." He shook his head. "I dunno, man. I mean, her ugly side really came out that night. I know I can't talk, because I was just as bad, but ... at the time, it really put me off."

"At the time?"

"Well, you can't completely quash it, can you? At the end of the day, no matter how hard you try-"

"So you _do_ want to be with her still?" I said, ignoring the second part of what he said.

He shifted awkwardly in his seat.

"Well, that's a tricky one..."

_Then_ I processed his whole comment. _No matter how hard you try..._

"You – you _don't _want to be with her?" I frowned.

He shrugged his shoulders in a would-be nonchalant manner.

"She's not interested any more, so it doesn't matter-"

"What do you mean, she's not interested? Of course she is-"

"She's off with Bagman now, isn't she?"

"That was only one date," I pointed out. "They've not really seen each other since."

"But it was another guy. She's obviously moved on-"

"No, she really hasn't," I said firmly.

I expected that to cheer him up, but if anything, he looked even _more_ tortured.

"Look, I ... I just can't," he said finally.

I frowned.

"What do you mean, you _can't_? She's still our Brie, the same girl she always was, what's changed?"

"Who says anything's changed?" he said dully. "Look, it's just ... I can't, James. I just can't."

* * *

><p>Mum sidetracked my visit to Brigid by showing up just as I was about to leave my flat.<p>

"I wanted to talk to you without your father around," she said, taking a seat at my kitchen table.

"Okay..." I was slightly confused.

"Listen, he won't tell you this. Not _properly_, anyway. He might hint at it, but he won't explain himself fully. And ... I think somebody needs to, just to make sure you understand."

"Understand what?"

"Why he was so aloof all the time." She smiled sadly. "I told you, didn't I? I always said, you two needed to just _talk_ to one another, then you could iron out this misunderstanding before it got too big..."

"_What_ misunderstanding?"

She reached out and took my hand in hers.

"You two were so close, once."

I nodded, thinking once more about those days before I'd gone to Hogwarts.

"And then you sort of ... withdrew. Became more distant. I see why, now. You resented his fame. But at the time, he thought you hated him. He thought you didn't want anything to do with him any more. And ... well, you know what your dad's like; he's not the best at that kind of thing. He thought he'd just leave you to it, that you wouldn't want him bothering you. And I guess that's where you got the idea that he didn't approve of you from. He did, he _does_, he always has done, he just thought _you_ didn't want _him_."

I stared at her, taken-aback.

"But ... it's not ... it was never..." I shook my head slowly. "Why didn't you _say_ something?"

"Because _I_ didn't know! I was in the same position as him, I just thought you were going through a phase where you thought it was uncool to like your parents or something! When he'd say he thought you didn't like him, I'd tell him he was being silly. But then _you_ started to think that _he_ didn't like _you_, which you had good reason to think because he'd withdrawn from you, but you'd gotten the wrong end of the stick about that! I didn't know whether he'd been right all along, or whether it was his withdrawal that caused you to feel like you did. That was why I kept saying you needed to talk, to work it out for yourselves." She sighed. "I should have tried harder. You're _men_, you're never going to actually _talk_ about feelings. But I didn't want to interfere..."

I squeezed her hands tightly.

"It's okay," I said. "It's not your fault. You're right; we needed to sort it out ourselves. And ... maybe it's a _good_ thing. Maybe I needed this kick up the backside..."

"I think we _all_ did." She smiled wryly.

I nodded in agreement.

"How ... how are things, anyway?" I asked her awkwardly. "With work, and..."

"I've gone freelance," she said. "Probably the best thing for me. It's going to work out fairly well, I think. _Quidditch Weekly_ will take a lot of my stuff, and it will be nice to have the chance to raise the standard of stuff in _The Quibbler_; I'm going to write a weekly column for them about Quidditch. I think _Which Broomstick?_ are even interested in getting me to write stuff for them, but I'd have to rub up on my broomstick knowledge first, obviously. It'll be nice to be able to write what I want, when I want, though."

"So ... so you're not mad at me?"

"Mad?" She laughed slightly. "Oh, James, how could I be? The _Prophet_ is still a poisonous place to be at. Losing my job was probably the best thing that could happen to me. I didn't _need_ them, at the end of the day. People didn't talk to me because I was a _Prophet_ reporter, they talked to me because they respected me. I've not lost anything from not being affiliated with them any more. It's given your aunt a new mission, though."

"Which one?" I asked, though I had a funny feeling I knew already.

"Hermione, of course. She's working with your dad on a new bill about press regulation. It's about time if you ask me; the _Prophet_ was strangled somewhat after the war but lately it's been allowed to get too big for its boots, and it needs taking down a peg or two. See why I'm glad to have gotten away scot-free?"

"So ... this is good, then?"

She beamed.

"It's very good, darling. Besides, I kind of always wanted to go freelance. I don't even have to write about Quidditch any more! I could write about anything I wanted..."

"What, like cauldron thickness?" I snorted.

"I said I _could_, not that I _wanted_ to," she pointed out.

I grinned; her enthusiasm was infectious. I was relieved that my idiotic actions hadn't caused her any harm in the end.

"And Dad? He's jumped a few hoops for me..."

"Nobody seems too angry, dear. After all, most people in the Ministry have used their position to their advantage one time or another. It's only natural. And people understand it wasn't for his own means, that he was doing it as a father. He gets a bit of respect on that front; whether he _should_ or not is another matter."

"What, so people don't mind that I beat someone up and got away with it?" I scoffed.

She hesitated.

"Well, some people were annoyed, but what do they matter? I bet _they've_ all sinned before," she added darkly.

Her comment reminded me of what Ingrid had said to me in the pub. _Whose opinions in this world truly matter to you_?

Maybe she was right after all.

"And Lily?" I turned my attention to my overworked sister. "How have her exams been? I can't have helped that..."

She winced slightly.

"Possibly not," she conceded. "But you know Lily; she has the most remarkable ability to shut everything out if she needs to. I think she'll have done just fine. I can't wait for them to be over, though. The girl's worked herself to the bone for years now."

I nodded in agreement.

"It'll be worth it though, if she gets the job," I said. "The Muggle Liaison one. She really wants it."

"And she'd be superb at it," Mum added. "Fingers crossed."

"Fingers crossed," I agreed.

* * *

><p>Right now, I had my fingers crossed for me. Hoping I'd actually survive this encounter.<p>

Not that I thought there was much chance of that. I'd learned very early on in my life never to anger an Irish woman. There was a reason for that.

I took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" a voice called.

My heart sank. I wasn't even going to get through the bloody door.

"James," I said nervously.

There was a pregnant pause.

"What," she said slowly, "are you doing here?"

"I've come to apologise. Will you let me in?"

Silence.

I sighed and rested my head against the door.

"Look Brie, I was an idiot. I was horrible. I said some terrible things, which you didn't deserve to hear. And I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

I paused.

"I hated what you said about me and Ingrid, you know. I said it was okay in the end, but ... it wasn't. It really wasn't."

I hadn't planned on saying this at all; I'd just planned on saying sorry, and getting back into her good books. But it just came out. Perhaps it was for the best though; perhaps I needed to make it clear how I felt, if I wanted to save our friendship.

"You didn't understand her. You didn't _try_ to. You were just determined you were right, and that I was an idiot for not listening to you. But you were _wrong_, Brie, you were wrong on this one. And ... I hated what you did. I still do. I never forgot it, I was never okay with it. I ..." I closed my eyes, swallowing. "I guess I never stopped being mad at you for it."

I didn't know whether she'd even heard what I'd said, whether I'd been talking to her or thin air. But then I heard the lock turn, and I stood upright just as she pulled the door open.

She stared at me for a moment, her expression a mixture of bemusement and remorse. It was a while before she spoke.

"I just wanted what was best for you..."

And that was the hardest bit of it all.

"I know." I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly. "But ... you didn't _know_ what was best for me, not properly. You _thought_ you knew, and you wouldn't listen to anyone who told you differently. You wouldn't even listen to Freddie-"

She scoffed.

"He just couldn't be bothered getting involved, as usual-"

"No," I said firmly. "He gets involved in his own way. He lets me do what _I_ think is right, because he knows that I have to make my own mistakes. _You_ try to stop me making them in the first place. But it doesn't work like that, does it?"

She closed her eyes, looking tortured. I stepped over the threshold, shut the door behind me and pulled her into my arms, holding her tightly.

"I'm sorry," I murmured. "I said some horrible, horrible things and you didn't deserve _any_ of them. I was just angry about the media, and then Carlotta got angry with _me_, and I started thinking about Ingrid again and I got angry with _you_ as well, and you know how I get when I'm angry..."

She let out a small, muffled laugh, and hugged me back.

"I let you down..." she whispered.

My heart sank.

"No, you didn't!" I protested. "You really didn't! If anything, you were trying to look after me too much, and you shouldn't feel bad about that."

"You should have _said_..."

And that was the crux of the matter. Because we _hadn't_; none of us had said a thing. We'd all just _assumed_, and that was what had gotten us into this situation.

"Promise me," she said now, tilting her head to look up at me, "that if you _ever_ have an issue with anything, you'll let me know?"

"I promise."

She beamed, standing on tiptoes and planting a kiss on my forehead.

"Love you, Jimmy," she said fondly, ruffling my hair.

"Love you too, Brie." I hugged her tightly again, feeling a surge of gratitude towards the girl who'd looked after me for pretty much ten years without so much as a word of complaint.

"I didn't mean it when I said you were a bad agent," I mumbled into her hair.

"I know. And I didn't mean to get angry with you, either."

"I've fucked it all up."

"No, you haven't. It's all still fixable, don't worry."

"I don't see how," I said morosely.

She pulled away, and took my hand in hers to lead me into the living room, where we sat down in front of her coffee table. She grabbed a quill and some parchment, and began writing as she spoke.

"Okay, first of all, you need to put out a public apology for your actions, particularly stressing your extreme remorse for how you treated the photographer."

"But he's a dick," I protested.

She stopped writing and looked up at me, raising an eyebrow.

"James," she said flatly, "you _punched_ him. He may be a dick, and there may be a lot of people privately congratulating you for it, but you still need to apologise for it. It's a criminal offence, remember, and you're damn lucky you got off scot-free. So, you're sorry for that..." She continued writing, "and also for any other harm your actions may have caused. You also apologise to your Falcons teammates and promise to do everything you can to rectify things. You're extremely regretful that you've lost your place in the England squad but fully agree with the actions Demelza was forced to take, and will seek help accordingly-"

"_Help_? I don't need _help_-"

She looked at me again, a sad expression on her face.

"James, this happened for a _reason_. You clearly have issues with alcohol that you need to sort out-"

"_Alcohol_? This has nothing to do with alcohol at all; I was sober for half of it! I was just angry-"

"Well then, you have anger issues which need sorting out," she said.

"Well no, I don't, because I don't get angry at everything, do I? You know me, I'm a laidback kind of guy! It was just this one thing, that's all; just the media messing things up for me. I hate all that attention..."

She gave me a peculiar look, before turning back to what she'd written.

"Either way, we still need to say that you're making amends," she said. She read through it quickly, before handing it to me. "This okay?"

I skimmed through what she'd written, immensely impressed that she'd managed to come up with it on the spot. I couldn't believe that I could ever have suggested she wasn't good at her job – even if I _was_ angry at the time.

"That's perfect," I said, handing it back to her.

"I'll release that once we're done, then," she said. "Next, you need to get yourself back in the Falcons squad. You were only suspended until further notice, so you'll just need to meet with management and get them to reinstate you. It shouldn't be _too_ hard; Mum likes you and really didn't want to have to suspend you in the first place. It's obvious you're better than you were, so it shouldn't be much of a task."

"You say that as though she won't be angry with me," I said tentatively.

"I don't know how she'll react," Brigid said frankly. "You might have to grovel a bit. But she'll put you back in the squad. Whether you play for the rest of the season is a different matter. The World Cup might play into your favour here, because she'll have to rest all the internationals for at least one of the last three matches. Obviously they won't all have to be rested in the same match, and Stefan and Klaus alternate anyway which solves _that_ problem. But she's going to want to play her strongest Chasers, _especially_ against the Bats. I know for a fact she'd rather play you than Laura or Julia. Whether you'd oust Roxanne if Ryan and Della both play is another story, though. She's been fantastic, these past few matches."

I nodded in agreement, feeling a slight twinge in my stomach. Of course I was pleased my cousin was doing well, but it was a bit of a kick in the teeth that it was at my expense. I reminded myself that this was all self-inflicted; that I deserved what I was getting.

"And ... what about England?" I asked tentatively. I knew my ship had probably sailed, but there was still a small part of me that hoped, _prayed_, there was a chance getting back into the squad...

Brigid looked wretched.

"Oh, James..." she said. "I think you should just concentrate on getting yourself reintegrated with the Falcons, for now."

I understood what she meant. I didn't have a chance of getting back into the England squad. My heart sank.

"Demelza's hands are tied," she continued. "She had no choice but to drop you once Mum had suspended you. Her squad is full; she can't just put you back in because you've screwed your head back on. She can only replace someone in the event of injury or ... well, a case like yours."

"So, she's replaced me? Who with?" I asked, though I had a horrible suspicion I already knew.

"Josh Wadcock."

The bastard.

"Mum will be in training now, but I can catch her as soon as they've finished if you want-"

"In training now? But isn't this one of the weeks off?" I frowned.

"It is, but she's called them in anyway. She wants them to keep their eye on the ball, seeing as we're – they're – top of the table, and they'll have to adapt to missing players in the last few matches of the season."

I smiled slightly, at her futile attempts to remain impartial. No matter how hard she tried, she never succeeded in hiding the fact she was an avid Falcons supporter.

"I'll arrange for you to see her tomorrow afternoon, does that sound good?"

My facial expression must have betrayed my feelings on meeting up with Sinead, because she let out a laugh.

"Don't _worry_, James, it'll be fine! She'll be more than happy to put you back in the squad! Look, I'll go with you if you want, for moral support. But you _really_ have nothing to worry about."

I wasn't overly reassured. It was wonderful to think I might be able to mend my Quidditch career, that I might not have completely thrown it away. But the fact that my one hurdle was the fair but strict Sinead Murphy had me a bit concerned.

"Tomorrow sounds fine." I nodded in agreement.

After all, I had no other choice.


	37. thirty-seven

I'd known Sinead Moran for a long time. The first time I'd properly met her had been when Brigid had excitedly introduced me and Freddie to her at the platform at King's Cross at the beginning of our Christmas holidays in First Year.

But I'd known of her for a long time before that. How could I not have? Her Quidditch playing career had crossed with Mum's; she was in fact only six years older than Mum, having made her World Cup debut at twenty. I only had vague memories of Mum's playing career; she'd retired when I was three. Sinead, on the other hand, had retired five years later, and I had much more vivid memories of watching her playing.

She'd been incredible. One of the finest Chasers I'd seen; one of the finest the _game_ had seen. The trio of Troy, Mullet, Moran had at the time been the most sublime, most innovative Chaser trio ever; they'd attempted – and pulled off – things that Chasers before could only have dreamed of. Ireland won an unprecedented three consecutive World Cups when they'd played in the Emerald Green. Indeed, few Chaser units since had rivalled the skill they'd demonstrated across that eight year period.

I'd always known I'd wanted to play Quidditch. I learnt to fly almost before I mastered walking; growing up I'd been surrounded by the sport, as part of a family who positively adored it (Nana Molly, Uncle Percy and Aunt Hermione aside). The only debate had been over which position I'd play. I'd been just as adept at Seeker as I had Chaser, seemingly influenced equally by both Mum and Dad.

It had been Sinead who'd decided it for me. I'd watched the 2002 World Cup final so many times that I knew it by heart. I'd been completely in awe of her talent, and that of her teammates. There had been something truly magical about the three of them; they seemed to know each others' moves in advance, and those of their opposition to boot. It was like poetry in motion.

I loved being part of a team. Some of the best moments of my playing career were in the changing rooms, or in a post-match huddle on the pitch with my teammates, or planning tactics with Ryan and Della. For me, it wasn't about the personal glory; it was about working _with_ other people, _for_ other people. Seeker was a lonely position to play. During a match you were out there on your own. You were basically playing your own game, pitched against the opposition's Seeker in a battle of wits and eyesight.

But as a Chaser, you were a member of a team within a team. A third of a scoring attack; reliant upon your teammates, but able to create incredible moves if you were all on the same page. That was what had always captivated me, and the Irish Chasers had done it the most magnificently.

Sinead had only been coaching the Falcons for a year or so when I joined them. Before then, she'd been a Chaser coach for the Kenmare Kestrels, the team she'd represented her entire playing career. At the time, it had seemed odd that she'd move from the team she'd spent her entire post-Hogwarts life with, but she'd wanted a challenge. The Falcons had been languishing in the bottom half of the League for the previous few seasons, and she'd delighted in the chance to take the reins, especially as the same opportunity with her beloved Kestrels seemed a long way off.

She'd always wanted to win. It was the sure sign of a fine sports player; after all, what use was a player without that drive? As such, she only wanted the best players.

Some teams believed the mantra that teamwork was the most important thing; that a group of good, but not amazing players who worked well as a team was better than a group of superstars who refused to gel. Sinead partly believed that. She certainly knew the value of teamwork, of a group of players who'd fly into brick walls for each other. But she preferred a third option – a group of superstars who worked well together.

She didn't _look_ for superstars. She looked for people who had the _potential_ to be superstars. More importantly, she looked for passion. She looked for desire. For drive. For enthusiasm. If her players developed into superstars, she wanted them to be well-grounded ones. She wanted people who would buy into her image, who'd never waver from that primary aim of playing for the _team_.

I'd known all of this when she'd signed me three years ago. It had been a huge honour, that she'd thought _me_ worthy of her great squad, of her high ideals.

But I'd lost my footing. I hadn't just tripped up; I'd plunged off a cliff. I'd hardly been a fine example of a well-grounded player. I was going to have to grovel more to Sinead than I'd done to anyone else so far.

It all hung on this. My entire _career_ was hanging on this one moment. Because if my team wouldn't take me back, what other team would sign me? I'd be labelled a liability, and no team wanted a liability.

Quidditch was my _life_. It was so much more than just a job, just a game. It was an institution, a religion. It was all I knew; it was my _everything_. Without it, I was just a kid with little magical skill to back up my inflated N.E.W.T results, and a lack of knowledge of real life. All I had was a nice smile and a small amount of charisma, which seemed to have abandoned me recently.

So I was going to fight for this. I wasn't going to let it slip from my grasp.

The players were all in training when I arrived. It looked a small group; with six internationals and a player-coach elsewhere, and me suspended, their numbers were more than halved. It was lucky that the position left bereft by call-ups was Seeker, the one least dependant on team interaction; though they also had to operate with only one Beater, given that Cato, Cleo and Keira were all with England.

I snuck into the hut the back way, wanting to avoid any kind of confrontation with the teammates I'd let down so badly. Luckily, Sinead's office was a corridor away from the changing rooms, so nobody would be likely to see me while I waited for her to finish in training.

Standing nervously outside the office door, I could hear the team outside. The training calls, the friendly insults. The _laughter_. That was what I missed the most. A part of me craved to join them, as though nothing had changed.

But I waited.

I had no idea how this conversation was going to go. I'd been surprised – pleasantly so – at the relative ease with which I'd patched things up with my family so far. Admittedly I'd found visiting Dad rather daunting, and I'd had to explain a lot to him so he could understand my point of view. But Brigid had forgiven me quicker than I'd thought, while Mum, Al, Lily and Freddie had barely been a problem at all.

I guessed that was because they were family – and Brigid was as good as by now. We were a family who stuck by each other through thick and thin; it was one reason why I'd always loved being a part of such a large family, even if it _did_ increase the odds of having irritating relatives. They loved and cared for me, so they were just relieved that I was _okay_. I wondered whether there was a chance I'd face repercussions at a later date; it seemed almost unfair that I should get away with being such an idiot. But I could cope with any repercussions; I knew that now. Just so long as I was _forgiven_.

Sinead was a different issue, because she wasn't family. And she wouldn't let the fact she was a family friend, or that I was best friends with her daughter, get in the way of things. I was her employee, and she had her team to think of. I'd have to do a lot more grovelling, I knew that much.

It would be worth every minute I spent in her office, though, if I were to be reinstated.

The voices began to grow closer, as the team made their way into the hut. Training had finished for the day. My stomach clenched with nerves.

And then Sinead rounded the corner.

She was in her training gear and clutching her broomstick; she was clearly taking a much more hands-on approach in training than she normally did. Generally she was content with barking out orders from the ground. I wondered if the limited numbers had anything to do with her change in approach.

"James," she greeted me with a sincere smile as she reached the office. "It's good to see you."

She opened the door and gestured for me to lead the way in; I did so, and sat down gingerly in the chair opposite her desk. She leant her broomstick up against the wall, and sat down in her chair. She leaned forwards, her arms crossed on the desk, and looked at me thoughtfully. The smile was now gone.

"Why are you here?" she said.

I frowned, slightly bemused at the question. "I – I want to get my spot back in the squad..." I said.

"Why?"

I was once more taken aback by the question she put to me. "Well, because it's my job, and I enjoy it, and-"

"Why should I take you back?"

My hands began to shake ever so slightly, and my mouth felt dry. I'd known this wouldn't be easy, but the questioning was making me uneasy. From what Brigid had said to me, I'd felt certain that my suspension would be lifted even if the process was a hard one. But the approach Sinead was taking had me totally on the back foot, and now I wasn't even sure if she _would_ take me back.

"You know what I expect from my players, James," she continued when I said nothing. "Why should I take you back now?"

I didn't have a response. I didn't _know_ why she should take me back. I'd screwed up; why did I deserve another chance?

And then I heard muffled laughter, coming from the changing rooms, and a voice. Julia Horton's voice. _Julia_. The woman who'd been my mentor when I'd first arrived at the Falcons. The woman whose starting spot I'd taken and hadn't relinquished. And ... she'd known, all along, that she was helping me at her own expense. But she'd done it anyway. She'd put the team first, just as she'd always done and always would do – just like _everyone_ in that training room did. And I loved them for it, every one of them. Alfie, our captain, who always had an encouraging word and a smile for anyone and everyone who wore the Falcons colours; Laura, who only two seasons ago had turned down a chance to play in a friendly game for England because it clashed with our exhibition match against the Stuttgart Snidgets, which she wasn't even playing in; Sophie, who had left the Falcons a couple of years ago for the Arrows but had returned after only one season, despite having started all of their games, because she missed us.

And then there was Della, and Klaus, who'd chosen the Falcons over their home team the Harriers numerous times over; Stefan, who'd come to England on a family holiday with his father Viktor, come with us to watch the Falcons play the Cannons, and had never left Falmouth since; Cato and Cleo, who already referred to themselves as Falcons with immense pride...

And Ryan and Roxanne. My Gryffindor teammates for years; I'd played every single game in my six years on the team with at least one of them, and two years with both. Ryan had been my captain for two years, and then I'd been Roxanne's for two. And then I'd followed Ryan here to play for the Falcons. I'd played alongside him more than I had anyone else. We knew each other's game inside out; we could pull off almost every manoeuvre in the book, and adapt to any style of play by now. Half the reason I looked so good in my matches was because he made me look good. I'd do absolutely anything for him, both on and off the pitch, and I knew I'd always have his support in return. And as for Roxie ... well, she was my little cousin, and I loved her to bits. And while she might have taken my starting spot for the time being, I didn't really mind that; after all, at least it meant she was more likely to stay with us.

Because I knew that I'd never leave, not for as long as I was welcome within the changing room. Even if I couldn't regain my place, even if another club offered me all the money in the world. I didn't _want_ the money. Just being in the Falcons squad and contributing all I could to the team's success was more important to me than advancing my own personal interests. I'd wanted to get into that England squad more than anything, but I'd thrown that chance away, at least for the time being.

I wasn't going to do the same with my Falcons spot.

"I love this club," I said, sitting upright. "I love the people, the atmosphere, the supporters. I came here because I wanted to play Quidditch, and you offered me that chance. I came because of you; you're my absolute _idol_ on the pitch, and my best friend's mum to boot. And I came here because of Ryan too. I always loved playing with him at school, and I wanted the chance to do so again. But now, it's about so much more than just that. I couldn't even begin to imagine playing for anyone else; it wouldn't be the same at all. I _love_ Quidditch; it's my absolute everything, and I don't know what I'd do without it. I know I've messed up, but I won't do it again, I _promise_ you that. This means too much to me for me to throw it away again. I know I've screwed up my England chance but I don't care about that any more; I just want to play for _you_, for the Falcons, for the other guys. I want us to win the League again, and I'll do everything I possibly can to help us do that. I know you'll probably pick Roxie over me now, because she's doing really well, but I'm _fine_ with that, and I'll help her out as much as I can – I can show her how to tell when Della's going to do one of her reverse passes, because I noticed she missed a couple against the Catapults, and she can't quite pull off a Porskoff Ploy with Dell yet-"

Sinead raised a hand and I fell silent.

"When I suspended you," she said, "it was because I had no other choice. I didn't want to at all; in fact, it was the _last_ thing I wanted to do. But I have to follow the League rules, and they firmly state that actions like that can't be condoned. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you in person. I think you were at least owed that courtesy, and I didn't give it to you. I tried to get in touch with you for a couple of weeks afterwards, but I couldn't get through; Brigid says you were hiding from everyone. I wanted to help you out, because you're one of my players; you're _my _responsibility. And as a coach, a mother and a fellow human being I wanted to do all I could to help you. I still _do_."

I had a horrible feeling that there was a 'but' coming.

"I need to know that this won't happen again," she continued. "I can't afford to have my players acting like this."

"It won't," I said hurriedly. "I know what I did wrong, and I know what I lost because of it. I won't let that happen again, I promise."

She still didn't look entirely convinced.

"Demelza Robins wants you to get some kind of help-"

"But I don't _need_ help!" I protested. "I just let things get the better of me, that's all, and it won't happen again."

"But how did it happen?"

I frowned.

"I – what?"

"How did it happen? If you don't know how it happened, then you can't prevent it from happening again, can you?"

It was a valid point.

"I don't like the attention," I admitted. "The attention I get because of being Dad's son. And then everything just went wrong at the same time. But it's fine now, it's all fine."

Sinead had a peculiar expression on her face. It was, I realised, the same one her daughter had worn only the previous day.

"Are you sure?" she said.

Well. I'd sorted out things with Dad. I'd patched things up with Brigid and Freddie. But I had no idea where I stood with Carlotta.

"I'm sure," I said firmly.

She smiled, ever so slightly.

"You're a good player, James. A damn good player. One of the best I've ever had. One of the best I've ever _seen_. That kind of talent should be nurtured, not wasted." She took a deep breath. "I'll take you back-"

"You will?" I said excitedly, half-rising out of my chair. "Thank you-"

She again raised a hand to silence me.

"I have some provisos," she said. "Firstly, you undergo some proper media training. That way, you'll know how to handle questions you don't want to answer even when Brigid isn't there to do it for you. Secondly, no more drinking."

"_What_? But that had nothing to do-"

"I don't care," she said flatly. "You lot constantly undermine me on that rule. If I can enforce it in any way, I'm bloody well going to."

"But that's not fair; nobody else will obey-"

"This is for you, not for them," she pointed out. "Besides, the international players will be under strict instructions not to drink, so you won't be the only one. And I'll be strongly advising Roxanne to follow that lead as well; she's pretty much first team now, and we're coming to the business end of the season. I need you all firing on all cylinders if we're going to win this title again, and I'm not having anybody pissing about and risking our chances."

She surveyed me for a moment, and her expression softened. In a trice, she went from Sinead the manager to Sinead the friend's mother.

"It's good to see you're okay, really it is," she said with a smile. "We were all so worried about you. I tried so hard to get through to you; in fact, the whole squad did. We've missed you, we really have. You're a huge part of what makes this team the happy place you speak of, and I think it's important you understand your worth in this team –not because I'm a Quidditch manager who doesn't want to lose a player, but because I think part of your problem is that you don't see your own worth. You're a wonderful player, and a wonderful person, and I want you to realise that."

I smiled slightly, touched by the words.

"Thanks," I said awkwardly.

"Now, you say your England chance is gone-"

"Well, it _is_, isn't it?" I said glumly. "At least for _this_ World Cup, anyway. None of the others are going to go off their heads, and it'd take a fall from about a hundred feet to injure one of them badly enough to make them pull out. And professional players don't fall off their brooms often."

She smiled sympathetically.

"Perhaps it is," she said. "But you're certainly still on their radar, so you have every chance of becoming an international player once this World Cup is over."

"Maybe," I shrugged; any chance I now had seemed a long way off, and so it was hard to keep it at the forefront of my mind. "But there's a League Cup to play for first. And I have to play well for Ryan, and Della, and the other international guys who are looking for starting spots-"

"Though I'm sure Della at least is nailed on," she said smoothly.

Given that she was Germany's vice captain, I had to agree.

"I know that Ryan's not entirely certain on his chances of starting, though," she continued. "_I_ think he will. He says – and I'm inclined to agree – that Aisling Quigley and Fiona O'Sullivan will both play; it seems silly to split up Bats teammates. But is Ryan better than Shane Connolly? I'd say so."

I nodded in agreement.

"Connors still struggles with the Porskoff," I added. "We'll have to do as many as possible, especially against the Kestrels, show Desmond Ryan that Murph's been doing them for years – I mean, if I get to play, that is," I added awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck.

She smiled ever so slightly, but gave nothing away.

"Go and see the others. Merlin knows they're all dying to see you."

I grinned, and got up from my seat.

"Thank you."

"Thank _you_, James. For coming back."

"I'll _always_ come back to the Falcons," I vowed.

* * *

><p>I got home half an hour later to find Aunt Audrey sitting in my kitchen, a plate of shortbread in front of her.<p>

"What are you doing here?" I asked as she got up and hugged me.

"Wanted to see you, didn't I? I figured you probably won't have the time to come and see little old me, now you're back playing again, so I've come to you instead."

"Who says I'm playing again?" I raised an eyebrow, and sat down opposite her.

"Brigid said you had a meeting with Sinead today. And there's no way she'd refuse to have you back." She busied herself with the teapot.

"I don't know; she didn't seem all that enthused at first..."

She raised an eyebrow.

"James," she said, "she'd be an _idiot_ not to take you back."

And that was when I realised it had all been a test. All of Sinead's questioning ... she'd just wanted to make sure I really _did_ want this. She'd wanted _me_ to realise how much it meant to me. And she'd trusted me to give her the answer she wanted to hear.

"There's no guarantee I'll _play_ though," I accepted a mug of tea from Aunt Audrey as she sat down. "Roxanne's good. _Really_ good."

"Did you see her today?"

"Yeah, I did." I grinned, remembering the way she'd nearly knocked me off my feet the moment I'd entered the changing rooms. The most touching thing about it had been that my return signalled a possible demotion back to reserve for her, but she didn't seem to give a damn about that. She'd just been happy I was okay.

"You'll play," Aunt Audrey said confidently. "Sinead Murphy's no mug."

I didn't say anything. I wasn't nearly as sure as she was. Instead, I took a piece of shortbread from the plate.

"Darling, I wanted to talk to you about something." Aunt Audrey looked slightly nervous. "Brigid came to see me earlier, about you. And why all of this happened. She's concerned that you don't know how to deal with your anger-"

"I don't have anger issues!" I said indignantly. "I hardly ever get angry-"

"But when you _do_..." she began.

She didn't need to finish the sentence.

"I know." I sighed. "I went overboard. But ... that was just because ... I got angry when Carlotta left. Because it made me unearth all my ... I just felt _pressured_. Because of Dad. And Carla brought it all up, so when she left, it made me angry. And I blamed that on the media, because it was their fault she found out everything about Dad. And then Brigid was angry with me, so I was angry _back_, and then I went to the bloody _Lair_..."

It had all been salvageable until I'd gone to the Basilisk's Lair, I considered now. At that point, I'd just upset Brigid a little bit, but nothing overly serious. It had been after that fateful night out that the harm had _really_ been done ... with her, Albus, Rose and eventually everyone else, when I threw my fists at that photographer.

But it had all stemmed from that ill-feeling I'd had towards Dad for years, along with my hatred of the media.

And then the two had combined in the shape of a pissed off Carlotta...

"Things are cool with Dad now," I reassured Aunt Audrey. "_That_ won't happen again. And Sinead's going to make sure that Brie's always with me when I talk to media, so they can't overstep the line and I don't have a reason to get pissed off with them. So it ... it's all fine now..."

Almost. Two of the three elements that had combined to produce such a poisonous result had been dealt with. The third element didn't seem to want anything to do with me.

"That's all very well," Aunt Audrey said, "but I _do_ think you need to lay off the Firewhisky for a while."

I smiled wryly.

"You're too late; Sinead's already done that."

"Good for her," she said approvingly. "There's something else we need to address. You don't like the attention."

"No," I said, relieved that someone understood me on that one. "I don't-"

"Then why become a professional Quidditch player?"

And that was when it hit me.

It had been staring me in the face the entire time. The reason why _I_ was the one who'd had the breakdown, and not Albus or Lily. None of us liked the attention or the comparisons. But Albus worked in the Ministry; even if he _was_ training to be an Auror, it still wasn't a very glamorous job in the eyes of the _Prophet_; not enough to garner their full attention, at any rate. Perhaps once he was working on his own cases, he'd get more inches, but while he was just a trainee, he provided no juicy tidbits whatsoever. And most of Lily's life made no sense to them. Even the bits that might, she kept private.

I went and chose a profession that found myself almost permanently residing in the back pages of the _Prophet_, and often the front too. Once I'd become a Quidditch player, of _course_ they were going to talk about me more than anyone else. I was already well-known; I'd just given the papers something _else_ to talk about. I'd given them a reason to hype me up.

_That_ had been the reason for Brigid and Sinead's peculiar looks. They'd realised, all along. Because why _would_ someone who hated being famous, choose a profession that made them even more so?

To me, it didn't matter that I had my own legacy now, even if it was only comprised of two and a half seasons with the Falcons. The trouble was, I'd never know how much of my media appeal was down to my own successes. Dad's fame had been a huge springboard, and as far as I was aware, I was still on it. I didn't hate being famous, I just hated that it was because of Dad. And it always _would_ be because of him. No matter how successful a Quidditch player I might become, news articles would always link me back to the man who defeated Lord Voldemort.

"I just wanted to play Quidditch," I told my mug. "I didn't want to play it because of the _following_ it has; I wanted to play it because I _love_ the game. It was the only future I could envisage. It still _is_ the only thing I can see myself doing." I looked up at Aunt Audrey. "I guess I just have to learn to ignore the attention it gets me."

She smiled slightly.

"Perhaps you do," she said. "Perhaps you do."


	38. thirty-eight

"I hear Minerva McGonagall's struggling to find a new flying teacher," Mum said conversationally while cooking breakfast next day. It was a Saturday morning, of course, and she'd turned up as though the last five weeks hadn't even happened.

"She's still not filled the vacancy?" I raised my head sharply.

She frowned.

"How did you know there _was_ one?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

She smiled wryly.

"Neville told your dad," she said. "Your turn."

"She asked me if I knew of any players who might want it."

"And?"

I shrugged. "Nobody's interested. Trouble is, any players who might be considering retirement – like Julia or Laura – would be doing so to spend more time with their families. And a job at Hogwarts is hardly conducive to a family lifestyle, is it?"

"Neville manages," she pointed out.

"Yes, well they're hardly _normal_, are they?"

"James!"

"I didn't mean it like that!" I said. "I just meant, they've lived in the Leaky Cauldron for years. Living above a pub is hardly a regular occurrence, is it? Alice and Francesca probably barely noticed Neville wasn't around, what with living in the gateway to Diagon Alley. And he's home over the summers, and at weekends, and now Alice and Frankie are at Hogwarts it makes things more normal – except that their Dad teaches them Herbology, obviously. And ... he's always done that, you know? If he were to change jobs, he'd probably pick one which lets him spend more time at home. It's exactly the same for players – if they want to retire, it's because they want to spend more time with their kids, so they're not going to want a teaching job at Hogwarts. Not straight away, anyway. Maybe someone whose family are grown up..." I mused.

Mum sighed.

"The trouble is, it's generally hard to find people who want to teach at the school, because it _is_ a time-consuming career even if you _don't_ live at the castle – it's not _required_ for teachers to even live in..."

"Yes, but practically they kind of _have_ to, don't they?" I said. "I mean, all the pupils live there; you need _some_ teachers to live in, and if too many decide to live at home then it won't work as a boarding school."

"True," she conceded. "But if anything, that makes the situation _more_ delicate. The best options are people without many commitments. Which means people who've just left school and don't have a family of their own yet, or older people – like you said – whose families are independent. But older people are less likely to want a change in career so late, and _especially_ not to become a flying teacher."

"It's funny; I never realised before how hard it was to fill a teaching post..."

"Well, that's because nobody's had to fill the flying one before in your lifetime," she pointed out. "For academics, teaching is as respected a profession as researching or writing. But when it comes to Quidditch, the best players just want to _play_; you guys aren't interested in teaching. The best coaches will go into professional coaching, because there's far more respect in that field than at a school. And the best referees will become professionals because of the money involved in it."

Quidditch refereeing was probably up there with dragon breeding as one of the most dangerous jobs in the wizarding world. As a result, the wages were huge in order to tempt people into it.

"People don't want to teach at Hogwarts when they're young; it's nowhere near as glamorous a job. And, evidently, there's a lack of older people, who've done all that already or are otherwise suitably qualified, that want the job."

I sighed.

"It's a shame," I said. "I mean, surely teaching ought to be the most important aspect of Quidditch? If younger people don't learn to play, and develop an interest in it, how are we going to keep the game alive? That's where it all starts. All of us players plied our trade at school originally; without that we couldn't _possibly_ be the players we are now. Hogwarts students are the future of the game; it's _vital_ they have someone to nurture their talent."

Mum smiled slightly.

"Perhaps you should head Minerva's campaign. You make it sound like a most admirable profession."

"Well, it _is_," I said, slightly put-out by her mocking tone.

"Oh, no, you misunderstand me," she said hurriedly. "Don't get me wrong, I completely agree with you! Your passion for the game is second-to-none."

An odd smile teased at the corners of her mouth.

"Freddie would be a good shout for it," I said suddenly, as the thought dawned on me. "He was on the Quidditch team for years, and he's good at tactics too. He's only working in the shop because it's convenient..."

"He'd either take to the extra responsibility _very_ well, or he'd be utterly terrible," she summed up. "And I don't think Minerva would take that risk. It's a shame though, because I think he has some of the right traits."

"Brigid?" I mused.

"Doesn't have the patience to teach. I can't envisage her showing First Years how to fly, somehow."

Neither could I, to be fair.

"Hey, how about you?" A cheeky smile spread across my face. "You're fresh out of a job..."

She threw the tea towel at me.

"Actually," she then admitted, "I've told Minerva that if she doesn't find anyone to take the job by September, and Madam Hooch stays for another year, I'll take it on from next September."

"Really?" My eyes widened. I'd only mentioned her as a joke – I couldn't see her teaching any more than I could Brigid.

"I thought I'd do her a favour. It's not something I'd consider ordinarily, but it's getting to be a desperate situation. I initially said I'd do it for a couple of years, but if I take it up, I can't leave it unless I have a replacement, especially when I'm only in my mid-forties. You know who the obvious option would be to take the job, of course?"

I frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"There's a stand out candidate. Someone who has _all_ the qualities required, and more. Someone who'd love teaching young people, and who'd be revered by them. Come on, James, it's right underneath your nose..."

And then it dawned on me.

"Dad."

"He always was good at teaching," Mum said, and I knew that she was referring to their illegal study group, the DA. "Minerva knows all about that, of course. He's still a fantastic flyer, and he knows all the laws of the game; he'd be a perfectly adept referee. I think Minerva's secretly hoping he'll take it, but you know him; he won't leave the MLE unless he thinks his job there is done, and he comes up with new reforms and projects every week."

"Have you told him you're the back-up?"

"That's one way of putting it."She smiled wryly. "Yes, I've told him. When I got the boot from the _Prophet_ I was seriously considering the job unconditionally, but then I talked to Percy about going freelance, and-"

"_Uncle Percy_?"

She shrugged. "He and Audrey came round for lunch. He spoke a lot of sense, actually; he said he thought teaching was a fine career path – of course, you know what _he's_ like – but that I should do what I _want_ to do, not what I feel obliged to do. I love writing about Quidditch, but I don't know that I'd want to teach it or referee it. I gave up the practical side of things a long time ago. I don't _want_ the job, I'd much prefer to remain as I am. But ... the post has to be filled somehow. So I _would_ do it, but only if it were completely necessary."

"Would Dad do it on that basis?" I suggested. "If nobody else was available, and you decided not to, would he take the job?"

"I wouldn't let him," she said flatly. "I know how much his job means to him; how important it is for him to do what he can to keep the Ministry a clean, uncorrupted place. If it came down to me or him, it would have to be me, because I wouldn't _let_ it be him."

There was something utterly wonderful about Mum's boldly-declared self-sacrifice. I knew she and Dad had always been loyal towards each other, but her willingness to give up her job so he could keep his just served to underline how much she loved him. It was something I'd probably never tire of – at least so long as I wasn't subjected to their demonstrations of affection. I'd grown up in a large, loving family; it was because of that love they'd welcomed me back into their arms so quickly. It was reassuring to know they were a constant in my life; that that love would always be there.

"You know," I said, "sometimes I wonder if maybe Hogwarts should expand on the job of the flying teacher. I mean, _I_ knew what Quidditch was when I got there, but Muggleborns don't. And for anyone who can't fly or lacks confidence, a couple of flying lessons at the beginning of First Year isn't going to be enough, is it? Why don't they become a permanent thing, for _all_ years? Like, first you tackle the flying for those who can't, then teach the basics of Quidditch, then you can get onto position-specific skills and tactics and things, even hold practice matches. It would give people who want to play much more opportunity to practice, so they feel more confident about trying out. It just seems like such a waste, having a flying teacher with the ability to referee matches, and yet having so little playing time for anybody who's not on the teams."

Mum looked thoughtful.

"You know, that's actually a really good idea," she said. "You should mention it to Minerva. You're right; they have the resources to do so much more than they do, Quidditch wise. And how many House players are Muggleborns? Not many, I'd wager. If course, your father was put on the team before he knew what the sport was! But then, he was always a special case, wasn't he? Don't tell him I said that," she added, "he doesn't need an ego boost. But that's a _very_ good idea of yours; in fact, I might adopt it myself, if I _do_ take on the job."

I grinned.

"I really do think you'd be good at it."

I paused, pondering something. The thought process had been triggered by Mum's reference to her own retirement. Her career had been an odd one, that was for sure; she'd been good enough to play for England, but had refused the offer, which wasn't widely known. Sinead Moran may have been my own inspiration, but that was because Mum was my mother and that somehow prevented me from seeing her as a player. She was just my mum, who'd once played Quidditch and now wrote about it.

But she'd been good. _Really_ good. She hadn't been my own inspiration, but she'd certainly been that of many other players, Roxanne and Della among them. Like me, she'd done something she absolutely loved for a living. And yet, she'd retired after seven years. I was only in my third full season, and it felt like I'd barely scratched the surface. For one thing, I wasn't going to make _this_ World Cup but there was always the next one, in four years' time, to work towards. And even then I'd only be twenty-five. I could get at least ten more years of playing in on top of _that_. Sinead had retired at thirty-eight! Tamsin Robins was that age, and was still playing _international_ Quidditch, her form was that good.

So why had Mum retired so early?

Oddly enough, it was something I'd never wondered before, despite being fully aware of the fact that her playing career had been a mere third of that achieved by many other players. But it hadn't seemed quite so incredulous before I'd had a taste of professional Quidditch myself. Now that I had, I didn't understand why anyone would give it up.

So I took a deep breath.

And I asked.

"Why _did_ you give it all up? You were playing Quidditch for the _Harpies_; why retire when you did?"

She gave me a curious look.

"That was me choosing _not_ to give it up," she said cryptically.

I frowned.

"Wha-"

"What do you think I _gave up_, James?" She smiled. "I had seven years of Quidditch – well, a bit less than that, given that I had time out when I was pregnant with you and Albus. I enjoyed every moment of it. When I left school, your father and I still weren't totally sure what we were doing, and I had the offer, so ... I took it. But then we got married, and had two beautiful boys...

"I've loved your father since I was eleven years old and he saved me from a memory kept in a diary. Since then, _that's_ what I've always wanted; to be with him, for us to be happy together, without the threat of death hanging over us. I _finally_ had that, and I didn't want to let it go. It got to the point where I just lost that drive to play. I wanted to spend my time with him, and you two, instead. So, yes, I retired. I didn't want to juggle my family and my career any longer, so I chose my family. I love Quidditch, and I always will. I love writing about it. But I couldn't play it any more if it kept me from my husband."

She looked at me perceptively.

"You might understand that, one day," she said.

I smiled slightly.

"I've hardly grown up in fear of my life," I said, trying to sidetrack the topic.

"True," she acknowledged. "Very true. You have no idea how much I envy you for that, sometimes..."

"But if you hadn't been born when you were, and if Voldemort hadn't come back, then you might not have gotten with Dad," I pointed out.

"True," she said again. "But then, I might still have six brothers. Swings and roundabouts. Anyway, stop trying to change the subject. I'd like to think I know you fairly well, given that I'm your mother. Well enough to realise that you put the barriers up when you left school. And you weren't going to take them down for just anyone..."

She looked at me perceptively.

"I don't think you took them down purposefully," she continued. "I think that because she's a Muggle, you didn't have your subconscious telling you that she must only like you because of your father. And I think that meant you could be more relaxed, more off-guard ... and more attached to her."

Of course. The conversation was going to come round to Carlotta sooner or later. Near enough everything else had been rectified; all that was left was her.

The only trouble was I didn't know what to do. I'd apologised to her for not being honest, but she'd barely seemed to _care_ about that any more. She'd just brushed it off, as though she didn't mind my dishonesty.

But then she'd backed off.

I knew what Mum's question would be. Was I going to fight for her?

But that wasn't my question to myself. No, my question to myself was whether I _wanted_ to fight for her. Because fighting for her meant I wanted more than just the little fling this had started off as.

Mum was right, of course, just as everybody else had been. It hadn't been 'just a fling' for very long. In fact, the moment she'd seen that photo of Lily and Brigid, discovered Cordelia, realised I could materialise out of thin air ... _that_ was the moment it all changed. My refusal to have her Obliviated meant that there had been no way back for us, and the more I'd let her into my life, the more attached I'd become.

But maybe it had actually started before I'd broken the Statute. After all, I'd chosen not to have her Obliviated in the first place ... somehow I didn't think I'd have objected quite so much if she'd been more like Cassie Lynch.

I'd let myself _care_ about her. That had been the problem. And she'd made it easy, too. After all, she'd cooked a load of dinners for me after only our second night together. Aunt Hermione always said the way to Uncle Ron's heart was through his stomach (though given her lack of cooking expertise, I wasn't entirely sure how this worked out for them), and I could see how that could be true of other men.

There was no reason I _shouldn't _want anything more from this ... whatever it was with Carlotta. It wasn't that I was relationship-phobic; I just didn't want to be used. That had been the initial attraction with her.

But now it was about far more than just that.

I wanted to fight. I was _going_ to fight.

I just didn't know how.

* * *

><p>"You're lucky I'm fast with my wand," Rose said sternly.<p>

"I know," I said glumly. Often I'd found myself cursing her quick handiwork. Now, I had to admit to myself it had saved me a lot of added worry and hassle. "I never meant to hurt you, though," I added. "You know that, right? And if I'd been myself, I'd never have _considered_ throwing a paperweight at you..."

She smiled slightly.

"I know," she said. "Don't worry, James, it's all okay now. Though I _will_ hold it over your head as much as possible, purely because I can."

"I hope you mean that in a figurative sense."

"Don't count on it," she said severely, though her eyes were dancing mischievously.

"How was the big dinner with the parents?" I asked. A cheeky grin spread across my face.

"It went alright," she said brightly. "Wouldn't you say, Scorp?"

She turned to look at him, as he pulled a face.

"_Alright_ is over-exaggerating slightly..."

"Oh, it wasn't _that_ bad..."

One of the bigger bits of news I'd missed while I'd been drowning my sorrows in the Hog's Head was that Rose and Scorpius had made their relationship official – and had told Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione. From what Albus had told me, they could have taken the news better.

"I'm sure it went as well as the reverse situation would," I chipped in. "In fact, how _have_ your parents taken it, Malfoy?"

I may have been okay with Rose fooling around with him; indeed, I may even have stuck up for him to Al. But we'd _always_ been on surname terms and that wasn't going to change overnight.

He shifted slightly in his seat.

"They seemed ... okay with it."

"I don't think I'll be invited round there any time soon," Rose said light-heartedly.

"Don't say that," Scorpius frowned, "it's not _that_ bad-"

"Scorp, our parents have a lot of history between them. They're hardly going to change their opinions about each other overnight, are they? They'll come round, in time. When they realise we're happy together. And when they remember we're our own people, not carbon copies of them," she added darkly.

It seemed to be a popular sentiment amongst my generation.


	39. thirty-nine

My first day back at training was awful. It was as though I was starting the season all over again. I hadn't even flown for six weeks; that was the longest period I could remember not being on a broom. Even our winter break, which should have been two months, had been broken up by our exhibition match against the Heidelberg Harriers.

Of course, once you've learned how to fly a broom you never forgot, so there was no rustiness there at all. But my fitness levels had dropped, and my general Chaser play was rusty. It took the whole of my first day before I was back to a level anywhere near that expected of a first choice player.

Training with so few other people was peculiar. It was a situation I hadn't come across before. It certainly felt odd not having Ryan and Della around – it was a lot quieter without Della, for one thing.

I'd still seen them, though. In fact, I'd been visited by all six of our international players at various points during the weekend. Della, Klaus and Stefan hadn't been able to stay long, as they'd travelled via international Portkeys from Germany and Bulgaria respectively, and couldn't miss their return trips. Ryan, Cato and Cleo, who were all in Apparating range, had been able to stay longer. As their visits had accidentally coincided, the four of us had been able to have a long chat – though regrettably no alcohol was involved as it was now a banned substance for us all.

It had been nice to see them all, though. Cato and Cleo had seemed a little awkward at first until I realised they weren't sure how to act around me following my release from the England squad. Once I'd reassured them that really, I was okay with it all, they loosened up a bit.

Was I really okay? Well, I'd finally come to terms with the notion that I wasn't going to play for England in this World Cup, which was a start, at least. It had taken a while to _completely_ sink in. I'd thought, when I was grovelling for my Falcons place back, that I'd already understood my England chance had gone, but there had undoubtedly been a not-so-small part of me that refused to believe it was over, still thought that if Demelza Robins saw I was back playing for the Falcons, she might change her mind...

She wouldn't. She _couldn't_. Not for the World Cup, at any rate. I _might _have a chance at the friendlies in the winter; she could re-jig her squad once the tournament was over. Until then, I'd just have to sit on the sidelines and watch.

It had been during my first training session with the Falcons, while I'd been practicing a Chaser play with Roxanne and Laura, that it really sank in. I was only _there_ because England didn't want me. I'd been dropped. _Rejected_. And it had all been self-inflicted.

But I had a job to do. We had a trophy to win. I'd let my teammates down once, and I couldn't do it again. So I refused to let myself wallow in self-pity, and instead threw myself fully into training, in the hope that if I worked hard enough, perhaps I could begin to redeem myself, and make up for what I'd done.

* * *

><p>Freddie visited at the end of the week. He brought some Firewhisky with him – "Come on, Jim, you can have just the one bottle! You don't have a game for another week!" – but I refused to drink with him, instead sticking to pumpkin juice. I may have ignored Sinead's orders about drinking many times before, but this time round I wasn't going to do anything that might jeopardise my career. There were only so many chances she'd be prepared to give me.<p>

The conversation started off fairly light-hearted, like most of my conversations with Freddie. He chatted about the latest shop merchandise, about Louis' latest misdeeds, and about Grandpa Arthur's reaction to our Rosie dating a _Malfoy_.

Then the subject topic soon grew more serious.

"Brigid's going on a date with O'Hare," he said sourly, taking an overly-large swig of Firewhisky.

"Aiden O'Hare?" I frowned, thinking of the Kestrels Keeper. "What _is_ it with her and dating her clients?" I mused.

"He's an idiot," Freddie said irritably.

I shrugged. "Seems alright to me."

"You _would_ say that. She can do better than _him_, though..." He shook his head, and stared morosely at the fireplace.

I was _itching_ to say something to him, to tell him to just get on with it and _talk_ to her about whatever it was that was holding him back. Had he still not resolved the argument they'd had all those years ago?

He emptied the bottle, and set it down heavily on the coffee table. _To hell with it_.

"Bloody hell, Freddie, just stop moaning and _do_ something about it if it bothers you!"

He jumped, clearly taken aback by the sharp tone of my voice.

"Wha-"

"I've had to reassure her for _years_ now, tell her that of _course_ you're interested, you're just too nervous to do anything about it. I've given you every chance to get with her, I've _never_ spoken ill of you to her, and what have you done about it? _Nothing_! So you argued with her, big deal! She's _over_ that, Freddie, she just wants to be with you, and every time you get with someone else it breaks her heart! These dates with other people, it's her way of trying to get over you, because she thinks you don't care. If you really care as much as you make out that you do, then why don't you bloody _do_ anything about it?"

"Because I can't love her in the way that she deserves!"

His reply had me dumbstruck. I stared at him for a moment, lost for words. He said nothing more, clearly not wanting to elaborate, so it was down to me to break the silence, once I'd found my voice.

"Why on earth would you think that?"

"Because ... look at my parents, James. They didn't marry out of love; they married out of _grief_. They mourned the death of Uncle Fred alone for years, and then figured that they could at least mourn him _together_; that way it wouldn't be so lonely. But it's nothing more; it never has been and it never will be. They don't love each other! They're business partners. They're friends. But they're not lovers. And the worst bit is, they're still not over Fred's death yet. It's like being around each other just _prolongs_ it, keeps him at the forefront of their minds. They don't sleep in the same room; it's been that way for almost as long as I remember, at least for as long as I've known that it's odd for parents to have separate bedrooms. They hardly interact with each other at all, there's just no attraction there! I mean, look at your parents-"

"I try not to." I was unable to prevent the dry retort that came from my mouth, and winced, hoping he wouldn't think I was disregarding what he was saying.

In reality, his admissions stunned me. He'd never so much as suggested this kind of insecurity before, and I'd certainly never noticed anything to suggest he was worried about anything like that.

"But they love each other, you can see it all the time! Even when they're not being overly showy with it, it's still there; a smile, or a look, or a gentle touch to the arm – it's there all the time! They're _happy_ together! My parents ... it's nothing like that. And that's what I've grown up with! How can I possibly love someone when my parents aren't in love with each other? Aren't in love with _anyone_?"

I said nothing for a moment, as I just tried to gather my thoughts. I doubted I was the best person to give anybody advice about love, but this involved my best friends, and I owed them the best advice I could possibly give.

"They still love you, though," I said finally. "And Roxanne. And it's not like they don't _like_ each other; they're hardly unhappy..."

"But they're not living a _happy_ life, either!" he protested. "And besides, love for a child is different to love for a partner-"

"Is it, though?" I pressed. "In this context? They love _you_, Freddo; why shouldn't _you_ be able to love someone? In fact, I think you already _do_ love her-"

"But that's the _point_!" he said, his eyes wide. "I don't know if it's love or not! And if it is, how do I treat her right? I just ... I dunno, Jim, I don't think I'm cut out for this. She ... she could do so much better-"

"I don't believe that for a start," I said flatly, "and I don't think she does either. She wants _you, _even if you _have_ tried your hardest to convince her differently. Just _try_ it, Freddie! At least _tell_ her what you're thinking! You owe her that much, at least."

He fell into the couch behind him, and ran his hands through his unruly hair. He looked utterly tortured. And at that point, inexplicably, I was reminded of something my Nana Molly had told me when I was younger, when Mum had gotten upset over something to do with a diary. At the time, I hadn't known the full story about Mum and Dad's past. Now, of course, I knew everything.

"Wars scar people, James," Nana Molly had said. "The thing with scars is that while the wound may heal, the mark remains. It never truly leaves us."

At the time the remark had made sense – but I'd thought it only applied to those who'd lived through the war. Now I saw that that wasn't the case at all. Uncle Fred's death had left Freddie just as scarred as his parents were. The fight against Voldemort had managed to leave its mark on people who hadn't even existed at the time.

"Look, Freddie," I said gently, well aware of the irony of what I was about to say, "you're not your parents. You're _you_. You can love, of course you can! You just need to let go of whatever's holding you back..."

I knew I'd grown up in my parents' shadows; that I'd felt pressured by things they'd done before I was born, things I couldn't have had any influence over. But I hadn't realised that Freddie, and Rose as well – perhaps our whole generation – had suffered the same.

Dad's own generation, and many more older than that, had been through so much – torture, coercion, grief – but as a family, the Weasleys had possibly been through more than any other. We were abnormal; it had always been a joke of ours at family dinners, but we'd meant it in reference to the Veela blood, the werewolf tendencies, the Metamorpmagus gene, the prophecies and being a bunch of gingers. I hadn't realised just how abnormal we were. Just how much the war had screwed things up.

I remembered Lily telling me once about the Muggle phrase the 'lost generation'. The Muggles had had their own wars, and the phrase had referred to the people who came of age during them. In that context, my parents were part of a lost generation too; a generation of people who'd grown up and become adults under the darkest cloud of them all.

We'd always been referred to as the 'golden generation'. Born well after the war was over and its antagonists dealt with, we were born at a happy time, brought into a world at peace, with so much potential and promise and so little to worry about. But in reality, we were just as marred by the war. We had scars too, scars we couldn't even begin to heal, because they weren't inflicted on us; they were inherited. And if we didn't understand where they'd come from, how could we deal with them?

We weren't the golden generation at all. We were more like the fucked up generation. The _true_ lost generation. The generation who'd been _born_ lost, and didn't know how to find themselves.

"Just," I began, "just _tell_ her how you feel, mate. She ... she'll understand. And you owe her that much, at least. If ... if you care enough about her, then you'll tell her."

It was all I could do.

* * *

><p>On Sunday, we all gathered at the Burrow for lunch. It was something we didn't do often, but Nana Molly had insisted on it to celebrate my recovery. I wasn't sure I deserved to have a lunch party thrown in my honour, but I couldn't bring myself to disappoint my grandmother, especially not when she delighted in any excuse to get the whole family together.<p>

It was nice, to be able to see them all again. I hadn't realised how much I'd _missed_ them – in particular little Dora, whose hair today was vivid pink. Teddy had been disgusted until Dad had told him that his mother used to wear her hair the same colour.

There it was, yet another reminder of what this family had been through. Teddy had never known his parents; they'd been killed before he was old enough to even remember them. I looked around the living room, at the various people collected there. Victoire ... daughter of a part Veela and a man with werewolf tendencies. It was little wonder she'd married Teddy in the end; she'd grown up with him, she knew he didn't give a damn about that. Not like the people at Hogwarts ... she'd always thought they'd judged her. So had Dominique and Louis, which was most likely the reason for Louis' outlook on life – he found it easier than having to actually admit to who he was. _Just like me_, I thought to myself.

Then there was Roxanne. Did she have the same hang-up as Freddie? Was she worried that because her parents didn't love each other, she in turn didn't know how to love?

And Molly and Lucy. The family had tried so hard to keep Uncle Percy's story quiet ... but they'd failed, in the end. Too many people had known of his transgressions. How _awful_ some of the taunts had been ... _How did it feel, having a father who betrayed his family?_ It didn't seem to matter that _we_ didn't care any more, that he'd been forgiven the moment he'd stepped back into the fold. People didn't seem to consider that he'd fought Voldemort and his followers just as bravely as everyone else in the end, and had done far more than a lot of other people. They didn't care about that. They just liked to jeer.

Rose had it bad too, with the entire wizarding world judging her for her relationship with a _Malfoy_ ... did Hugo suffer as well? Did he also feel the huge burden on his shoulders, from being the son of two of the most famous people in wizarding Britain?

Albus ... Al had taken the plunge where I'd completely avoided the scenario. Training to be an _Auror_. Going into the same profession as Dad, providing the world with the biggest comparison of all. Giving them extra reason to scrutinise. But then, he'd always been braver than me. I'd hidden behind a stupid act of self-confidence that had never been real, while he'd never been afraid to just be himself. He could cope with it all, yet I couldn't.

Lily had managed to escape it all, but at what cost? She was _happy_, I could see that much, but she was working herself into the ground, trying to straddle both worlds. And it had taken a long time for her to settle into Muggle school. I still remembered her first letters, written clumsily in pen and tear-stained, as she bemoaned the fact she couldn't have a pet cat, and she missed Chocolate Frogs, and their first Muggle history topic was on _witch burning_ of all things...

She'd acclimatised soon enough to her surroundings, helped by the fact that she'd had a tutor to prepare her for Muggle life for two years before she attended school. Then there was her friendship with Maddie, and the discovery that actually, she was quite good at Muggle sports. Not that she'd had an easy ride; there was the Obliviation for a start, not to mention the fact she was now too scared to tell any of her other Muggle friends the truth about just who she was.

And once she left school, she'd be going to work for the Ministry, advising the Muggle Prime Minister. Stepping right back into the line of fire, letting the spotlight swing round onto her again. How would she keep up the pretence to her Muggle friends and Maddie's family, once they'd left school and she became more involved in the magical world?

We were all, in our own ways, well and truly messed up.

I loved my family to bits, and wouldn't dream of trading any of them for the world. But sometimes I wondered what it would be like, to live a life free from all of the attention and pressure that came from being a Weasley. And I wondered whether any of my siblings and cousins ever had that same fleeting thought, as they lay in their beds at night.


	40. forty

We finally had a full squad of fourteen in training again the week before the Cannons match. It was good to have everyone back – for a start, things were much easier with a full complement of players.

I'd expected Sinead to be relieved at the return of the internationals, but, if anything she'd gotten _more_ frantic as the week went on. It hadn't gone unnoticed by anyone. Usually our training in the run-up to a match was specific to the team that would be playing that weekend. But Sinead had been rotating us Chasers so much I'd had a full practice with almost every plausible trio. It was peculiar – almost as though she wasn't sure who she was going to play. That assumption seemed to be the correct one, as she _didn't_ make a team announcement that Wednesday like she normally did.

"Maybe someone should ask her what's going on," Della said in a low voice at the end of the day. She, Alfie, Cato and I had all hung back, clearly all wondering if anybody else was having the same thoughts. "Alf, you're captain, you should do it-"

"If she wanted to take me into her confidence, she'd have done it," he reasoned, giving a blasé shrug. "You should go, you're Head Chaser and that's the position she seems most uncertain about..."

But I wasn't so sure that was the case. Now I came to think about it, I'd seen everyone else practice in a match set-up just as much as I had. Cato clearly felt the same, as he shifted awkwardly on his feet.

"Junior, you should go," Della said suddenly.

I stared at her, taken-aback.

"Me? Why _me_? I hardly think I'm her favourite person in the world right now, how would _I_ be of any use?"

Della smiled slightly.

"But that's exactly _why_ you're the best person. Let's face it, you screwed up big time. But she still took you back. She doesn't do that with just anyone. I'd say you _are_ one of her favourites..."

I frowned, and looked around at Alfie and Cato ... but they looked just as convinced.

"_I_ can't ask her; I've only been here a few months. It would look like I was imposing myself too much," Cato said.

I could certainly imagine that Cato, with his large frame, had that impact in most situations.

"Della's right, Jim. You should ask her," Alfie agreed. "You know what she's like; she'll talk to you. Plus, you know where her office is," he added cheekily.

I scowled at him.

"Alright," I said with a sigh, "though I'm not sure what I'll find out. She's probably just hesitant about playing me. She probably regrets taking me back-"

"Bollocks." Della gave me a friendly smack around the head. "Just _go_!"

"Thanks for the support," I muttered, and headed out of the changing rooms and up the corridor to Sinead's office. I had absolutely no idea what I was meant to say – how could I question our coach's decision not to announce the team as early as usual? What if it looked like I was impatient to get a game, despite my promise to willingly sit on the sidelines?

Her office door was ajar. I poked my head round it to find her sitting at her desk with her head in her hands, gripping her hair tightly. I cleared my throat awkwardly, and she jerked her head up.

"Oh, James, it's you," she said. "Is everything alright?"

She looked flustered, which was peculiar; Sinead was _never_ flustered. I noticed that her desk was covered with what I assumed were various game plans. She wasn't getting bothered about our tactics for the _Cannons_ game of all things, was she?

"Yeah, it's fine," I replied. "We were just wondering when you were going to announce the team for the match on Saturday..."

She leaned back in her chair, and let out a loud sigh.

"Come in," she said. "Shut the door behind you."

I did so, and gingerly took a seat opposite her.

"I'll be frank with you, James; I don't _know_ who's playing on Saturday."

I frowned.

"Is it that you can't decide whether to play me?"

She snorted.

"You? James, you're _definitely_ playing, against the Cannons _and_ the Kestrels. In fact, the way this is going, I might end up playing _Jules_ as well. Bloody hell, if I wasn't going to play _you_..." She shuddered. "No, it's these ridiculous playing time regulations..."

There were international rules regulating the game, concerned chiefly with player welfare. One of them put a limit on the number of games a player could play in the six week period before an international tournament such as the World Cup. This meant that, as Brigid had hinted previously, Sinead would be forced to rest Ryan, Della and the other four internationals during our last lot of games. The rule was widely unpopular, partly because players felt it made them rusty and would prefer the option to play, but mainly because in a sport with timeless matches it seemed pretty pointless trying to regulate how much Quidditch someone played in any given period.

"Seeker shouldn't be a problem, because I alternate the boys anyway, and they _should_ only need one match off each. So I'll play Klaus against the Kestrels, and Stefan against the Cannons and the Bats. I'm just worried that if the Cannons match goes on for too long, the Bulgarians might ask me to rest Stefan for two matches, which isn't necessarily a problem but the Germans could do the same with Klaus if the Kestrels game is a long one as well."

"They could do that?" I frowned.

"Course they could." She sighed. "The regulations only state the minimum; now we're in the World Cup training period the players are under their countries' jurisdiction. If they wanted to make themselves look good they could argue they're being generous in even letting us play them at all, because they don't have to do that." She pulled a face. "It's bollocks, James, it's an absolute load of bollocks. Are they trying to ruin our domestic game?"

"I'm guessing you can't overrule them..."

"Oho, there's no chance of me doing that. You know what that would mean."

I did. Any manager who dared go against the regulations incurred fines, and bans for the players. It was the regulations which gave the international sides chief authority over their players at times like this, and thus the ability to pull their players out of any club games they wanted to.

"I've had a good rapport with the Germans since I signed Della four years ago, so I'm hoping they'll be sympathetic to the fact both our Seekers are internationals, and be prepared to let us play Klaus for two games if we need to. But they're not obliged to, and that's the worry. But that's out of my hands, so I can't think too much about them.

"The trouble is, it's easy to get sucked into permutations and tactics, and how long should we let each game run for anyway? I know we'd normally string it out against the Cannons, but we can't do that this time. We'll have to make it a short one."

"But surely we need to build up our points difference?" I suggested.

"We can't risk it, otherwise the people on high might try pulling the guys out of the other two matches, and we can't have that. Not against the Kestrels and the Bats, of all sides. No, we're going to have to make the Cannons as short a match as possible. Say, an hour tops? We need the points, but at the same time we're top of the table; we'll just have to back ourselves to stay there."

"But what if other teams pull ahead of us through long matches against other teams-"

"We'll have to take that risk. I need my strongest team possible against the Kestrels and the Bats – and more to the point, I need a Seeker! So, the Cannons match will have to be a short one, to make sure Stefan can face the Bats two weeks later."

"Okay." I frowned. "But surely everyone else is easy, then? Just rest them all against the Cannons; we can beat them even with the full reserve team-"

"No can do." She sighed again. "That wouldn't be enough of a break. It would make a mockery of the system; the managements would be sure to make me rest them for longer."

"So how is it a long enough break for _Klaus_?"

"Because he won't be playing in the Bats match either," she reminded me.

"This is crazy..."

"You're telling me? It's threatening to mess up our entire season. Let's take Beater. I can't use the Cannons match alone as Cato and Cleo's rest period, which means I'll have to rest them against the Kestrels, because they _have_ to play against the Lynches, there's no doubt about that. And that leaves us in a sticky situation."

"Keira's not affected by this, is she?"

"Nah, she'll be fine to play. She's just a coach for England, it won't affect her. And I'm not worried about playing her, she's a class act..."

"But you're worried about Jake."

"I'm worried about Jake."

Jake Jenkins was our fourth Beater. He was the same age as Roxanne and, like her, was in his first full season with us, having signed on as a reserve in the middle of last season after leaving Hogwarts. He looked good in training but, _unlike_ Roxanne, he hadn't played a game for us yet. If Sinead was going to rest both Cato and Cleo at the same time, she'd be forced to throw Jake in at the deep end.

"I make his first match a must-win against the Kestrels? It's madness, utter madness. And then there's you _Chasers_. I have to rest Ryan and Della. I _need_ them both playing against the Bats; my best Chaser unit requires them. But can I rest them both against the Kestrels? You've never played with Roxanne _and_ Julia; in fact, I can't even remember the last time you and Jules were in the same line-up!"

"Actually, not as long ago as the last time I played with Roxanne," I pointed out.

"Yes, but you and Roxie have four years of constant play under your belts. I know it was only at Hogwarts but I don't underestimate that kind of experience, especially when you take all your training into account. No, I'm not at all worried about you and Roxanne as a combo. It's the third person I can't decide on. The trouble is, I don't know if I can resist the temptation to throw Ryan in for one of those games. If I'm going to big up the four years you and Roxanne had..."

"Ryan was our head Chaser for two of those years," I finished. "You want to see us three playing together again." I couldn't hide my grin.

"It's the most likely combination involving you and Roxanne to be successful," she summed up. "Which suggests I should play you three against the Kestrels, and you, Roxie and Della against the Cannons. But I don't know if the Irish would play ball and let me off."

"You played for them!" I pointed out. "Surely they'd let you off?"

"Totally different management-"

"Yeah, your ex-teammate."

"Desmond Ryan doesn't do favouritism."

"But surely he'd understand that you _have_ to play Ryan against the Kestrels-"

"But I don't," she said dully. "In terms of mere numbers, I have enough Chasers to rest him against the Kestrels. The fact that I don't _want_ to, won't be relevant. And besides, if he lets me off, then the Kestrels and the Bats will put pressure on him to let _them_ off too, and that could create a sticky situation, what with their international numbers."

The Bats and the Kestrels had a reasonably even split of the Irish squad. The Bats had the Lynch brothers, along with two of the squad's Chasers, Aisling Quigley and Fiona O'Sullivan. The Kestrels, meanwhile, had the fourth Chaser, Shane Connolly, along with the first choice Seeker Brianna Keily and Keeper Aidan O'Hare. The Seeker match-up would be slightly better for us against the Bats, but they had the extra Beater power to counteract that advantage. Likewise, the Bats' Keeper was easier to get past than O'Hare was for the Kestrels, but the Bats' Chasers meant it was harder to get possession of the Quaffle in the first place. All in all, both teams were tough to beat in their own way.

But the Bats would be tougher. That was why Sinead wanted her first choice team up against them. Unfortunately, it looked as though that meant compromising our team against the Kestrels.

But who _was_ her first team these days? Certainly the Bagmans, Alfie, Della and Ryan were nailed on starters in an ideal line-up, while Stefan and Klaus were interchangeable. But what had happened to my spot? I'd seemingly be playing against the Cannons and the Kestrels ... but would I get the Bats match? Or had Roxanne earned that right?

"I've got more chance of playing Della against the Kestrels, and resting her against the Cannons," Sinead mused, pulling me out of my thoughts. "The Germans like us; they'd probably let me off. And the Kestrels know a lot more about Ryan; that might work against us. But what if the Germans _don't_ let me? And more importantly, what if they _do_, and the Kestrels match goes on too long and they want her rested for longer? What if Desmond wants Ryan rested for more than just one match?" She groaned, and buried her head in her hands.

"You've been thinking about this a lot, haven't you?" I said.

"Three weeks. Three _bloody_ weeks of thinking and rethinking and permutations and tactics. I nearly had a hernia when I first realised how bad it would be. Imagine how terrifying it was when you were AWOL."

"Guess I've done you a favour, being dropped by England," I said wryly.

"It _does_ make it easier knowing I can run you into the ground," she admitted, sitting upright again. "Not that I want you to think I'm pleased in any way about the situation; you know I'd much rather see you in the squad."

I smiled appreciatively.

"What do you think?" she suddenly asked.

"I – what?" I frowned, wondering if I'd misheard what she'd said.

"What do you think I should do?"

My frown deepened.

"You – you're asking _me_?"

"Of course I am. You're one of my team, aren't you? You're one of the most tactically minded players I've got. I want to know what you make of it."

I was floored. Coming back into the dressing room, I'd barely expected to _play_, let alone be privy to such an important tactical conversation.

"Okay," I said nervously, edging forwards a little in my seat. "Seeker's sorted, right?"

"So long as nobody moans, Seeker's sorted," she agreed. "But that means getting the game lengths right."

"We have to make the Cannons match short, for Stefan, you mean?"

"In an ideal world, they'd all be short. But then we run the risk of being told we've not rested the players for long enough. I'll just have to cross my fingers and hope the Bulgarians are nice to us."

"It seems unfair, given that both of our Seekers are internationals," I said.

"The _rule_ is unfair. In fact, it's totally ridiculous. If only it was by _hours_, not _matches_ ... but then, you'd still incur the same problem of not being able to predict how long a match will be. It's just not _practical_, this regulation. But we have to comply, and so does everyone else. So, as I've said, Seeker is straight in my head. Beater?"

I paused for a moment.

"Keira and Jakey will probably have to face the Kestrels, right?"

"It seems so."

"Okay. Play them against the Cannons as well."

She stared at me.

"Are you _mad_?"

"The Cannons are easy to beat!" I reasoned. "It'll give Jake some match experience, which will make the Kestrels game seem less daunting for him."

"You'd take the risk?"

"Would you have signed Jake if you didn't think he could do it?" I asked.

"It's not that I don't think he can do it. It's just, if I'm going to give him his debut, I'd rather it was match fourteen of twenty-four, not match ten of twelve."

"It's either match ten or match eleven," I pointed out. "And he's made of strong stuff. Plus, this is the Cannons we're talking about. And Keira knows her game. She's a Broadmoor, she can deal with anything."

"There's only so much pressure you can put on a player's shoulders," Sinead reasoned.

"Still, if you rest Cato and Cleo for both matches, there's no way Demelza can complain. And if you have to play the second string Beaters against the harder opposition, why not give them the easier opposition first?"

"True," she sighed, picking up her quill and adding to her notes. "I'll admit, it's a good thought. Risky, but good. And it leaves the Bagmans to play against the Bats. Which is the most important thing, at the end of the day. I can't leave them out against the Bats."

Against the Lynches, in other words.

"And _Chaser_? Come on, James, pick your teammates for me."

"No pressure, eh?" I said lightly.

"Now you know how I feel," she said sourly. "Someone's got to make the decision, and Merlin knows I've gotten far too tangled up in permutations to decide it for myself."

"Me and Roxanne for Cannons and Kestrels, right?" I started.

"That's the easy bit."

"I know; I was trying to put off thinking."

She smiled wryly.

"You don't think Desmond Ryan will be nice enough to let Ryan sit out the Cannons match and be done with it?"

"Not if it's too short. Which it has to be for Stefan's sake."

"But you think the Germans will let you use that as Della's rest game?"

"Possibly. If I sweet talk them."

"Right, well get sweet talking, play Ryan against the Cannons and Della against the Kestrels. And then we cross our fingers and hope the Kestrels match isn't too long, either."

"That's leaving a lot of things to chance," she said edgily.

"I don't think so," I said confidently. "I'd back us to wrap things up against the Kestrels reasonably quickly-"

"But would you?"

She had a peculiar expression on her face. It wasn't one I'd seen on her before, and it took me a moment to twig what it was – _fear_.

She wasn't scared about incurring a fine. She was scared about putting her players under an enforced ban.

More to the point, she was scared at having to take too many risks. Be overly cautious, rest too many first team players for too many games, and risk losing the League. Or back the team to wrap things up quickly – and be forced to play our most important match of the season without our best players.

She was scared of _losing_.

"We can do this." I looked her straight in the eye. "I know we can. We're good enough – we're _more_ than good enough. I promise you, Klaus can keep that Kestrels match a short one. We give ourselves an hour to make hay against the Cannons before Stef catches the Snitch. We make sure the Kestrels match runs for about two – not too long, not too short. Then, we have all the time in the world to play with against the Bats, with our strongest team. That's more than enough time. We've got a hundred points on them in the table already; we'll be starting that match from a position of strength. "We won't _need_ to be under any pressure to win. We'll do it. _Trust_ me."

She stared at me for a moment, as though the words were sinking in. Then she nodded.

"I trust you," she whispered.

* * *

><p>Sinead was still just as nervous the morning of the Cannons match. She'd announced the team on Thursday morning, and we'd had two solid days of preparation. We all felt confident, even Jakey, who was making his first appearance for the team. But confidence alone wasn't enough to shed Sinead's worry that this would backfire.<p>

I knew she felt guilty about putting so much pressure on Stefan. She was giving him the responsibility of wrapping up the game within the hour. Of course, it also meant he was free to catch the Snitch the first instant he saw it, instead of holding back, which I knew pleased him. For a Seeker, there was nothing worse than having to hold back while still trying to prevent your opponent catching the Snitch.

But it meant that the pressure would be on if he hadn't caught it within the first fifty or so minutes. And _that_ was a kind of pressure Seekers didn't like.

"You know," I muttered to Sinead, "you could possibly give him a _bit_ more leeway than one hour; I'm sure the Bulgarians won't mind-"

"No," she said firmly. "I'm risking enough as it is. I'm not taking more risks than I need to."

Truth be told, I was nervous too. These hadn't necessarily been my tactics alone, but I'd convinced Sinead they were the _right_ ones. If things went wrong, it was surely going to be my fault just as much as hers.

And why, oh why, did the _Cannons_ match have to be involved? These were always family affairs; _everyone_ loved coming to watch me play against them, mostly because they enjoyed being able to tease Uncle Ron when we inevitably won. It was a huge amount of pressure for my first game back. Not to mention that today of all days was Albus' twentieth birthday.

"If Uncle Ron stops inviting us round to give us the gossip about our parents that they refuse to tell us themselves, I'm blaming you," Roxanne told me in the changing room before the game.

"It'll be fine," I reassured her. "He's used to his beloved Cannons losing by now. Besides, you know he enjoys telling us about the family's mishaps far too much to stop."

Luckily, I was used to playing alongside Ryan and Roxanne by now. It had been like second nature to us back when I was fifteen. Now, of course, I was far more used to playing with Della instead of Roxanne, but I still remembered the way the three of us had played for Gryffindor all those years ago.

There were actually a lot of similarities in the way that Ryan and I went about playing alongside Roxanne, in comparison to Della. A lot of tactics and plays were decided based on relative sizes. Della and Roxanne interchanging didn't affect this – whichever one who played with me and Ryan would be the smallest of the trio. This made the switch near enough seamless. The only difference was Roxanne's speed on a broom – she was even faster than Ryan – so a couple of moves which had previously used his speed had been adapted, so that she was the main player. Others had to remain as they were, because they also required his bulk.

I wasn't feeling too worried about our part in the match. My concern was more over Stefan – and Jake. He seemed fairly confident, but for all I knew that was just a front. After all, I did the same, as did most players. It wasn't as though this match would be particularly hard, but that didn't make a difference for a player making his debut.

He didn't know he was also playing against the Kestrels. I agreed with Sinead on that decision – one match was bad enough, without landing the added pressure on his shoulders. Let him at least get this match out of the way first, before telling him he was also to play against half of Ireland's first choice team in a must-win match next weekend.

Sinead called us all together just before we left the changing rooms, for her regular pre-match pep talk.

"I have a lot of faith in this team," she said. "You're all damn good players, and none of you needs to worry about a thing. You all know your individual roles; just go out there and perform them, and don't let the mind games get to you. And that means not becoming too complacent. Yes, they're the Cannons, but if we're too confident we could easily trip up. We need this win. On paper, it's easily done. So go out there, play your best, and put it into practice."

* * *

><p>In reality, Stefan's game was an easy one. Because the Cannons' Seeker – like the rest of their team – was so rubbish, he had the luxury of being able to put off his Snitch capture for as long as possible – there had been little chance of his opponent catching it first, even <em>before<em> he was forced out of the game after falling for three Wronski Feints. The amusement on Sinead's face was unmissable; after all, she'd seen a Krum pull that trick before.

We were twenty goals up by the time Stefan finally caught the Snitch with a positively lazy gesture, with four minutes left on his stopwatch. The result, coupled with the Bats' scoreline at Portree, meant that we pulled out on them by another sixty points in the table.

"But they rested a lot of their players too," Sinead murmured to me in the changing rooms. "And I think they'll do the same against the Harpies next week. It means we'll definitely be facing their first team when we play them-"

"But we'll be playing ours, too," I pointed out. "Besides, by weakening their team now, they're putting all of their eggs into one basket. They could be clawing back that points difference, but instead they're letting it slip. It means they have to do more against us-"

"We lead them by one-sixty. If we played them tomorrow, they'd need to catch the Snitch while two goals ahead of us. That's _nothing_ in the professional game."

I smiled, with an air of confidence that I didn't truly feel.

"They've still got to catch the Snitch, though."

* * *

><p>"James!" Maddie cried, flinging her arms round my neck as soon as I emerged from the Cannons' away team changing rooms. "Don't <em>ever<em> put me through that again; I was worried I wouldn't have a prom date!"

I laughed, and gave her a tight hug.

"You will, don't worry," I said sincerely. "Besides, I'm sure you had an alternative lined up..."

"Yup, I was all set to ask Alfie," she said with a cheeky grin. "Good to see you back, though. You played well out there!"

"Thanks," I said, smiling back at her. "I felt a bit rusty, but I guess that was only to be expected. I was just lucky to _play_. Are your exams over yet?"

"Last one was yesterday," she said, her face brightening. "And Lily and Kit are all done too. We're going to go on a road trip somewhere next week. I have _no_ idea where; I'm just going to drive, I'll let the others tell me where we're going. It should be fun!"

Maddie liked spontaneity.

"You won't miss the Kestrels match, now, will you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You got us tickets?" she retorted. "You're lucky we couldn't make the three you decided to miss, young man, or you'd be in big trouble! Where else are we meant to get our tickets from?"

"I'm sure you could sweet-talk Cato Bagman," I smirked.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she said sharply, her cheeks tingeing with pink.

"Nothing, just that you seem to prefer him over me these days. Why, should it have meant anything?" I teased.

"Of course not. Don't be daft." She smiled faintly, her cheeks still flushed. "We'll be at the Kestrels match, so long as we have tickets. Someone might have to come and fetch us from wherever we end up, mind."

"I'll be on standby," I promised her. "And the Bats match?"

"If you don't get us tickets for _that_ one, James Sirius, then you'll be in _big_ trouble."

"What if it overruns, and you miss your dance?"

"Sod the bloody _dance_, I just want to see you win!" she said animatedly.

I grinned at her enthusiasm.

"Don't worry, I'll get you tickets..." I trailed off as I raised my head, and saw two people having an animated discussion at the other end of the pitch. "Oh, bloody _hell_."

"What is it?" She followed my line of sight. "Is that Freddie and Brigid? What on earth are they arguing about?"

"I have no idea," I lied, wondering why the hell they'd chosen the aftermath of the Cannons match of all times for an argument. I had a funny feeling I knew _exactly_ what they were discussing; if I was right, I was going to curse Freddie the next time I saw him for having such piss-poor timing.

Ryan joined us, looking stony-faced.

"I know he's your cousin," he said flatly, "but if he's breaking my little sister's heart..."

"He's not," I said firmly.

"Really? Because it doesn't look like it from here-"

"He ... he's not," I repeated, less certain this time.

Because after all, how was Brigid supposed to react to Freddie telling her he was 'too scared' to love her?


	41. forty-one

"Well, the _Prophet_ still don't like you," Brigid said as she perused the paper on Sunday morning.

"Of course they're not going to like me; I stormed out of an interview, attacked their photographer and lost them their best Quidditch reporter." I shifted slightly in my seat as I referred to the photographer; thinking about what I'd done made me uneasy.

"They lost their best reporter all by themselves; they can't blame you for that," she pointed out, as she skimmed the next article.

"No, but they _will_." I paused. "Why are you still reading that trash anyway?"

"I don't by choice. I have to keep up with what they're saying about my clients, don't I?" Then it was her turn to look awkward, as she recalled the oversight which had contributed towards our fall-out.

"It's alright," I reassured her. "I know you didn't expect to have to examine the gossip pages at great length."

"I am now though," she said darkly. "It's all utter rubbish here. None of the writers have a _clue_ about Quidditch, it's painful. Anyway, you can stop acting all high-and-mighty about my subscription; don't you get it too?"

"Not any more," I said proudly.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Did you cancel it?"

"Well, no," I admitted, "they cancelled it when they got fed up of the owls returning with the paper and no money. But I only ever got it because Mum wrote for them, so it's no skin off my nose. I still have my _Quidditch Weekly_ and _Which Broomstick?_ subscriptions, and I suppose I could buy the _Quibbler_ if she ever writes a piece for them."

"You could always subscribe to it," she suggested. "It's run by a family friend; you'd be doing a good deed."

"And Cordelia _is_ short of dross to munch on now I don't get the _Prophet_," I admitted.

"Be nice." She frowned, folded up the _Prophet_ and tossed it to one side. "All I can say is your Aunt's press reforms can't come soon enough. But never mind, the publications that matter are all on side again. As are _Witch Weekly_, unsurprisingly. As you might expect, they've gone for a 'tragic hero' angle on the whole story. It's incredibly nauseating but it's always good to have the support wizarding Britain's housewives, isn't it?"

I smirked slightly.

"I'll remind you of that cynicism next time you schedule an interview with them."

She let out a short laugh, then fell silent, and frowned down at the table. Not for the first time since she'd turned up, I wondered how to go about asking her about her conversation with Freddie – or indeed whether to ask her in the first place. This time, however, she solved my dilemma for me.

"Fred wanted to talk to me about something the other day," she said stiffly.

_Fred_. This didn't bode well.

"What did he say?" I tried to sound as though I wasn't already aware of the topic of conversation.

She gave me a withering look.

"I'm not stupid; I know he talked to you about it."

"You do?"

"Well, he told me," she admitted, then let out a heavy sigh. "He's just such a fucking _idiot_! I mean, does he expect me to just _accept_ everything and be fine with it?"

"What did he _say_?" I pressed.

"Some absolute bollocks about how we can't be together because he's got _issues_." She scowled. "I could've bloody told him that."

I shifted awkwardly in my seat.

"Look, you shouldn't be too harsh on him-"

"What, you're going to take his side again?" she snapped.

"No, I'm not taking his – what do you mean, _again_?"

"Every time, James. Every time there's an issue, you stick up for _him_."

"And how do you know I don't stick up for _you_ when I'm talking to _him_?" I pointed out. "In Seventh Year, I didn't side with either of you, remember? And ever since, I've tried to be the moderator. I love you both equally, and I agree he's being stupid about this. But that doesn't mean he's _completely_ wrong."

She looked guilty, which made _me_ feel bad. She'd been put through the ringer by Freddie over the years, that was for sure.

"Look," I continued, trying to rationalise my cousin's actions as best I could, "I don't deny what he's _done_ is stupid. Picking up other girls when you're around is just mean, and he shouldn't have gone down that route. But his _reasoning_? I don't necessarily understand it, but ... I don't want to sound like I'm trying to throw us a pity party here, but it's not easy being in our family, what with all the attention, and everything that's happened before ... and he's right; Uncle George and Aunt Angelina _do_ have a different relationship from my parents, or Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, or _your_ parents. And if he thinks that growing up in that environment has somehow had an impact, then who are we to argue with him?"

"I know," she said softly. "Merlin, I know. I've known you guys for ten years, I know better than most people how being your parents' kids has affected you. I've watched _you_ struggle with the attention for years. And I'm not trying to trivialise his problems. But ... what does he expect? That he can say 'I'm sorry I've shagged every girl under the sun this past year, but it's because I have this theory I can't love you properly, so really, I've done it all for you and you shouldn't be mad at me' and I'll jump into his arms? If anything, his actions have just _proven_ he can't treat someone right." She scowled. "And the worst bit is, he didn't even suggest that he might change his ways; he seemed to think once he told me, I'd just _understand his pain_, and regret ever getting pissed off with him over it."

I winced. "Did he say that?"

"Near enough," she said darkly. "And the worst part is that if he'd just told me, right after we graduated, that he was interested, but didn't think he knew how to treat a girlfriend, then I'd have been okay with that! We could have given it a go, and if it didn't work out, well at least we'd know we'd tried. But his stupid idea of trying to help me move on from him, for my own good ... it's just bollocks. He has a _seriously_ deluded notion of chivalry."

I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly.

"If I'd known before, I'd have said something to him about it..." I began.

She glared at me.

"Oh, don't even _try_ pulling that one. What was stopping you talking to him before? All those times you'd reassure me he _was_ interested, all along ... you didn't know at all, you were just guessing! You could have _said_ something to him, but you didn't bother!"

Brigid had done so much for me over the years. She'd always looked out for me at school, making sure I got my work done on time and helping me when I was stuck with it. When we'd left school it had been Brigid who'd found my flat for me. And she was still looking after me even now.

I'd barely done anything for her in return. And right now, the guilt seemed almost too much to bear. Because she was right; I could – and _should _– have done so much more for her. And I hadn't done, all because I hadn't wanted to have a heart-to-heart with Freddie.

"I'm so sorry, Brie..." I began.

Her angry look vanished, and was replaced by an apologetic one.

"Oh, no, James – I didn't mean it like that! It's not up to _you_ to run my love life for me; I should have just had it out with him years ago-"

"You're my best friends, though," I interrupted. "You're right; I could have said something, and I didn't, because I let my damn pride get in the way ... and you're worth far more than that."

She smiled slightly.

"Okay, maybe you could have said something. But don't beat yourself up about it. I don't want you to feel bad because of me. And besides, you left Dominique's wedding early for me; it's not as though you haven't been there for me."

This didn't help to assuage my guilt, but I knew she'd shoot down any further attempts to apologise. I made a mental note that in future, if I could help her in any way possible, I'd do it in a heartbeat, regardless of anything else.

"What happens now, then?" I asked her.

"I have no idea. I don't know if he _wants_ to give things a go or not; he was ridiculously unclear about that. And even if he did, I don't know that I'd want to, not right now at any rate. He's been a total berk-"

"But you still care about him."

Her face fell; she buried her head in her hands.

"Oh, _Merlin_, Jim, of _course_ I do," she told her palms. "Every time I'm mad at him I remember all the times he was there for me when we were at Hogwarts: all the detentions he ended up with for pulling pranks on anyone who upset me; all the times I'd sleep in his bed if I was feeling like crap; all the times he snuck out to Hogsmeade for me ... and it's not as though he's _stopped_ caring since! It's just ... he became the one who was upsetting me. And yet, no matter how angry I get with him, no matter how much I want to _hate_ him, I still find myself lying in bed at night wishing he was there to hold me and make things better, like he always would..."

Her voice broke.

"And then I just hate myself, for being such a fool," she finished in little more than a whisper.

I reached out and pulled her into a hug; the moment I touched her she burst into tears, and buried her head in my shoulder. I didn't say anything – I didn't know what more to say. I just held her as she cried, and silently cursed Freddie for being the cause of her pain, and for the fact that no matter how hard I tried to comfort her, I'd never be able to do it as well as he could.

* * *

><p>The following day, Albus surprised me by falling out of my fireplace in a most ungainly manner.<p>

"Why travel by Floo?" I asked him as he cursed while brushing the soot off himself. "And I hope you're planning on tidying that up."

He flashed me the finger.

"Flooing seems slightly more socially acceptable than Apparating into the middle of someone's house," he explained, cleaning the floor of the soot he'd just discarded.

"It _would_ be, if you didn't bring half my grate with you," I observed.

"Well that's your fault for not keeping it clean," he pointed out. "It never happens at the other end."

"I'd rather not know what happens at your other end," I said smoothly. "Anyway, what brings you here on this fine evening?"

"Do I need a reason to visit my brother?" He fell into the armchair opposite me.

"No, but your visits have been few and far between for about a year now; this makes a change."

"I stopped visiting when you seemed to stop wanting me to," he said in such a horribly matter-of-fact way.

"What – what do you mean?" I frowned.

"I know I've never been as _cool_ as you. And I don't really give a damn about that; I'm perfectly fine with who I am. But it always seemed like it bothered _you_. So I figured I wouldn't bother you if you didn't want me to."

I stared at him for a moment, my mouth open. Then I found my voice.

"You ... you thought I thought you weren't _cool enough_? Al, that's ... that's crazy! You're proud to be who you are, you don't give a shit what anyone thinks of you, that's _way_ cooler than anything I've done! And I admire you for that, I – heck, I'm _envious_ of you, Al! You're cleverer than me, you're wiser than me, you're _nicer_ than me ... and I guess I always thought Dad preferred you to me. That you were the son he'd always wanted, and I wasn't."

Now it was his turn to look bemused. I had to give him some credit; if my face had looked anything like his did now, then it was a wonder that he hadn't burst out laughing.

"You're _nuts_," he finally said.

"So are you," I retorted.

His face split into a wide grin, which I returned.

"I can only imagine what Lily would say if she was here right now," he said.

"She'd probably be banging our heads together," I said dryly. "Why _have_ you come round, anyway? Not that I want to get rid of you, of course..."

He shrugged.

"Wanted to get out of the flat. Mal – Scorpius is round. It's ... it's still a bit awkward."

"You're cool with it, though, aren't you?" I said.

"I'm fine with the whole Dark family thing, if that's what you mean," he said. "But at the end of the day, he's still the kid who took the piss out of my name. Things are hardly going to be okay overnight. But he makes Rosie happy, and that's the most important thing. So I have to at least make an effort, for her sake. Doesn't stop things being awkward when he's around though," he added gruffly.

I grinned slightly.

"Is he round often?"

"All the time," he said darkly.

And then I realised, with a slight pang of jealousy, just why Albus was _here_. He was here because Lily was off on her trip with Maddie and Kit. She, of course, would have been his usual go-to when he wanted to escape his flat.

I wasn't sure which I liked less; that he clearly visited Lily just as much, if not more, than _I_ ever did, or that it was _her_ he was visiting and not me. It was hardly as though any of us had more right over each other, but at the same time it made me wonder if I was ever the least favoured sibling in their eyes. And it also made me determined to spend more time with him in future.

"So," he continued, clearly wanting to move the conversation away from Scorpius Malfoy, "what's going on with you and Carlotta? I quite liked her."

"So did I," I murmured.

"Did?" He cocked his head to the side.

"Don't do that, it's girly," I berated him light-heartedly.

"Stop avoiding the question."

A light smile played at the corners of my mouth at his persistence.

"She's one of a kind..." I mused.

"So?"

I shrugged.

"Gotta talk to her, haven't I?"

"Why haven't you already?" he pressed.

"I tried," I confessed. "I went to the Tav yesterday. I thought I'd find her there. She always works Sundays, see. Except, she wasn't there. She's not going to be there for a couple of weeks, apparently. And the girl I asked wouldn't say why. So I can't _do_ anything. I'll just have to wait a couple of weeks or more until she's back at work..." I trailed off.

"Ring her," he suggested.

I shook my head.

"I can't chat over the phone. We need to talk _properly_, face to face."

"Go round hers, then!"

"I _can't_, I don't know where she lives!"

He looked slightly bemused.

"How can you not know that?"

I shrugged.

"We never went back to hers. And she always took herself off home. I haven't got a clue how to find her."

"Have you tried looking in the telephone directory?" he suggested.

It was once more my turn to look confused.

"The _what_?"

"The phone book! You know, it has a list of the addresses and numbers of everyone who lives nearby. Didn't you _listen_ in Muggle Studies?"

"Of course I didn't," I said scornfully. "So, where can I find this phone book then?"

"Well, you should have one." He looked round the room. "Big book, probably blue or yellow, comes through the letter box..."

"Hang on, that rings a bell." I got to my feet. "I had one of them the other week; I gave it to Cordelia to eat..."

The book in question was a bit slobbery and chewed at the edges, but it was still salvageable.

"One of these days you'll treat her to proper food." Al wrinkled his nose as I sat down next to him with the book.

"What's the point? She loves paper just as much. Now, how the hell do I use this thing?"

"Well, you need to look her up by her name..."

There weren't many Fortescues in the book, but a quick scan down the list showed that Carlotta wasn't one of them. I looked under 'M' as well, in case she was down under the name Martínez, but she wasn't there either.

"Does she share with someone?" Al asked. "It might be that they own the place."

"She does, yeah. But all I know is that her flatmate is called Flick or something like that."

He pulled a face.

"I don't know, then," he said.

I absent-mindedly flicked to the 'P's, to see if I could find myself.

"You won't be there," he said.

"Why not?" I frowned.

"You're ex-directory. Everyone magical is. It means you're left out of the book," he elaborated at my quizzical look. "The Ministry oversees it. It's part of their efforts in upholding the Statute. The less Muggle interference there is, the better."

"I'd never really thought about how much work it takes to keep the Statute intact..." I mused.

"Bucket loads. Which makes it all the more infuriating for them when oafs like you break it willy-nilly."

I winced.

"Yeah, that ... that wasn't so good, in hindsight..."

"Would you have told her about us?" he asked curiously.

"I dunno," I frowned. "Possibly, if I'd thought this was going to become something ... but then, why would I have thought that? And I don't know how things would have panned out if she'd never found out. Would we have gotten closer, or would things have come to an end? I'm not sure."

"I think you liked her more from the start, though. Why persist with a Muggle, given the Statute, if you weren't interested on some subliminal level?"

"Al, I'm not fantastic with feelings at the best of times, let alone _hypothetical_ feelings. Anyway, we can't find her in the book, so what the hell do I do now?"

Albus smiled, as though the answer was obvious.

"Go to Dad."

* * *

><p>I'd never come to Dad for advice before. Things had become awkward between us before I'd got to the point where I ever <em>needed<em> advice. Instead, Mum had always been my go-to. So, while asking him might be the obvious choice for Albus, it hadn't even struck me that he might be able to help me out here.

To be honest, I wasn't sure how he _would_ be able to help me. Al seemed to put a lot of faith in his being able to fix anything, regardless of what the problem was. To be fair, judging by how he'd sorted out my messes at the Ministry, Al probably had good reason for that faith. But I'd not really experienced that as much as he had, and so I still felt dubious as I knocked on the front door – I hadn't Flooed there for years, and the habit of visiting via the front door had well and truly stuck.

"James!" Dad looked surprised – but pleasantly so – as he opened the door. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"I just thought I'd drop by." I shrugged and stepped into the hallway.

He shut the door behind me and led me into the kitchen.

"Your Mum's in her study, but I can get her if you want...?"

"It's fine; I only saw her the other day." I sat down in my old seat at the large table. "Besides, she's probably busy. And ... it's you I've come to see, anyway."

He gave me a slightly bemused look as he put the kettle on.

"She baked something earlier. I'm sure she won't mind if we sample some with a cuppa..." he mused.

He began to look through the cupboards, presumably to find Mum's creation.

"She get stuck on her article?" I said with a raised eyebrow. She only ever baked when she had writer's block.

"If by 'stuck' you mean 'she didn't know what to write an article about' then yes," he replied, his head in one of the floor-level cupboards. "Where _does_ she hide it all..."

"Surely you ought to know by now?" I reasoned.

"She's a smart cookie, she moves her hiding place every time I stumble across it," he grumbled. "It's as though she doesn't want me eating what she makes."

"How inconsiderate of her," I said dryly.

"A-ha!"

Dad emerged from the cupboard with a large cake, looking impressed with himself.

"It would be a shame to see it go to waste," he reasoned, setting it down in the middle of the table. "I think she's beginning to wish she still had an editor to oversee what she writes." He returned to our previous conversation as his attention turned back to the kettle. "Sometimes she likes having the freedom to do stuff on her own terms, but it also means she needs to come up with all the ideas herself; she doesn't have anyone prompting her on what to write. Which is difficult at times like this, when she doesn't know what to write about. But she'll get used to it."

I leaned back on the back legs of my chair, savouring the fact that Mum wasn't here to tell me off for it and that Dad couldn't care less, and grabbed a cake knife from the drawer behind me.

"She might only be doing this journalism lark for another year," I pointed out, cutting two generous slices.

"She _says_ that..." he began.

"She's given McGonagall her word she'll take the job if nobody else does." It was also nice not to be berated for not referring to old teachers as 'Professor'. "You know nobody else will take the job, and once Mum gives her word, she doesn't go back on it."

"I know." Dad took a seat opposite me and handed me a mug, taking a wedge of cake in return. "But she retired from playing because it took her away from home too much, and I don't see why she'd take up another job that would do that exact same thing."

"We're all grown up now," I said hesitantly, picking at my slice of cake. "Me, Al, Lil ... we're not _at_ home any more, we're hardly going to be a factor in her decision..."

He sighed heavily, and looked down at the table.

"I know," he said. "I guess I just don't want to let her go, you know? I like knowing that no matter how long or how bad my day is, I'll get home and she'll be here ... but you're right; you kids aren't at home any more, you don't need looking after like you used to."

"I'd say I still do," I joked with a smile. Then I twigged just _why_ Dad didn't like the idea of Mum's new job. "You think she picks us over you, don't you?"

"Don't be stupid." He attempted a light-hearted tone; it failed abysmally. "It's just ... she felt compelled to work from home when you were little, and now you've all grown up she's fine with working away from home for months on end again. It _does_ seem a bit like I'm not really a factor in her decision."

Of all the peculiar situations I'd found myself in, having a discussion with my father about his insecurities in his relationship with my mother had to be up there at the top. The fact that this was only our second proper conversation in years just added to the weirdness of the moment, along with the fact that I really wasn't any good at giving advice about this kind of thing. Why did everyone seem to be coming to _me_ with their problems recently?

"Have you told her you don't want her to take the job?" I asked him.

"Well ... not _exactly_," he said. "I didn't want to seem like I was being difficult about it! I think she'd be great at it, but-"

"But you don't want to have to cook your own dinners, right?"

"Exactly," he said with a nod. "I just don't want to burn the house down, that's all."

I hid a grin.

"I think you'd be good at the flying job, you know," I said. "You always said you liked teaching the DA, and you know more than most people about flying."

"I'd enjoy it," he admitted. "But I don't know if it's the job for me. There are things I still want to achieve within the Ministry – and besides, it would stop me spending time with your mother just as her doing the job would."

"It doesn't _have_ to," I pointed out.

"But it _would_, in the end." He sighed. "No, I think it's already done and dusted. Your mum will take the job; she won't want to let Minerva down..."

"Unless someone else takes it first?" I suggested.

"Who, James? Nobody wants it!"

"I'll find someone," I promised. My first scout around had been half-hearted, but that was before I knew about Mum's plans. Now, I had the extra motivation of helping my parents out, and this time I was determined I wouldn't fail. "Don't worry, you won't be deprived of your cake baker. I'll make sure of it."

Dad grinned.

"You're a good kid really," he said fondly. "So, what did you want?"

"I said, I was just dropping by." I shrugged nonchalantly, but he didn't look convinced. "Okay, I was hoping you could help me with something," I admitted.

"Fire away."

"I need to talk to Carlotta, but I don't know where she lives. I tried to look her up in the phone book, but I couldn't find her."

He gave me a curious look.

"You know what a phone book is?"

"Of course I do! What, you think I didn't listen in Muggle Studies?"

He didn't look convinced.

"Alright, _Al_ told me about it," I admitted.

"That sounds about right," he said, sounding amused. He got to his feet and crossed the kitchen, pulling open the drawer which I knew held all the important stuff he couldn't be bothered to keep a flight of stairs away in his study. He pulled out a buff-coloured folder and slid it across the table towards me. It had Carlotta's name on the front of it. I frowned, and picked it up.

"What is this?"

"It's her folder from the MAC," he said hollowly.

I stared up at him.

"The Obliviators."

He nodded shortly, sitting back down opposite me. I flicked it open. It was all in there – name, date of birth, height, weight, shoe size, hair colour, eye colour, qualifications, occupation, parents' occupations, siblings' ages and occupations ... the list went on.

And there, right on the first page, her address. _Jackpot_.

"The Ministry has all of this information on her?" I said, dumbfounded.

"Had," Dad corrected.

I eyed him suspiciously.

"Did you _steal_ this from them?"

"Steal is such a strong word..."

"That's a yes, then," I said flatly.

"I borrowed it. For research purposes."

"But you're not going to give it back?"

"Why, do you _want_ me to?"

"Of course not!" I cried. "This stuff ... it's crazy, how much they know! How many people do they have this kind of information on?"

"Everyone who might threaten the Statute," Dad said flatly. "Lily's got a folder in there."

I stared at him.

"_Lily_'s in there?"

"Yep. So are Maddie and Kit."

"Bloody..." I shook my head, stunned. "And they're _allowed_ to collect this kind of information?"

"They have to make sure the Statute isn't threatened," he said in that same flat tone of voice that told me he really didn't approve of the Obliviators' methods.

"But you took Carlotta's folder."

"Because I knew you wouldn't want them Obliviating her."

My heart swelled with gratitude.

"I ... thanks," I said awkwardly.

"No need to thank me," he said with a smile.

I turned my attention to what was written down in the folder.

"Middle name Margarita, huh? Like the pizza."

"_That's_ the first thing you comment on?"

"Just making an observation." I shrugged. "They've documented all the times she's visited anywhere magical ... this is _detailed_. And the schools she went to, and all of her qualifications from there ... wait," I added with a frown, as I flicked through the pages. "There's a page missing."

"Is there?" Dad said in a curious tone of voice. _Too_ curious. I eyed him suspiciously.

"Why did you take a page out?"

"Who says _I_ did it-"

"Why?" I repeated firmly.

He sighed, looking nervous.

"There's a _lot_ of personal stuff in there, James..."

"Right. So why bother taking some of it out? Unless it was _more_ personal than the rest, and I can't imagine that..." I paused for a moment. "What do you know?"

"It's not my business to tell you. It's hers, if she wants to."

"But what if she _doesn't_ tell me?" I pressed.

"Oh, I think she will. She might not want to, but I think she will in the end. Possibly the next time you see her, depending on what you want to talk to her about..."

It was a sentence looking for an answer.

"I just ... I want her back. Somehow." I stared down at the folder in my hands. Just holding it made me feel as if I was invading her privacy, even though I already knew most of the information it contained. "Does this ... this _information_ ... does it have any bearing on why she's trying to distance herself from me?"

"Possibly," Dad said cagily. "But I can't speak for her on that one, obviously. Only she knows for sure."

"Does anyone else know about this? Mum, perhaps?"

"I haven't told anyone," he said firmly. "The Obliviators will know about it, obviously, but that's it. Just ... just promise me this, James. Promise me that when she does tell you, you won't act ... rashly. Just ... try to be understanding about it."

I looked at him, bewildered.

"How can I, when I don't know what 'it' is?"

"You'll see," he said in an infuriatingly cryptic manner.

Before I could reply, I was interrupted by the angry redheaded woman I fondly referred to as my mother.

"Harry James Potter, _cake before dinner_?"


	42. forty-two

I'd thought I'd known what it was like to be nervous.

I'd played numerous must-win Quidditch matches for Gryffindor. I'd spent two years as their captain, which brought a pressure of its own. I'd played fifty-three competitive games for the Falcons, along with three friendlies, and all of those had been must-win occasions, just because Sinead never settled for anything less than a win. Some of those games had proved more nerve-wracking than others; four matches stood out for me.

My debut match against the Wigtown Warriors, a couple of months after I'd left Hogwarts, with Ryan and Julia as my teammates, was one. Another was my first _big_ match, an away fixture against the Tornados towards the end of that season. The third was last season's final match against the Bats; a winner-takes-all-fixture, and possibly the biggest match I'd ever played in – it was certainly the one with the most at stake.

The other one which stuck in my mind was the Pride match two months ago, when Tamsin Robins had watched me from the crowd to judge my England prospects, and I'd all but clammed up.

But I'd recovered from those nerves every time. I'd pulled through and produced a good performance regardless. I'd thought I was good at managing my nerves, that I was able to channel them into adrenaline.

Now, I wondered if that was really the case, or if it was simply because I felt at home on a broom. I was _used_ to flying, to playing Quidditch. It was something I'd known all my life. I'd proven to myself I _could_ play well if I let myself, so there was no real _need_ to be nervous.

But I'd never done something like this before.

Until a few weeks ago, I'd barely had to fight for anything I wanted. I'd been lucky, _very_ lucky, that Sinead had had a vested interest in the Gryffindor team while I'd played for them, and perhaps her interest in the Chasers – more particularly her children – had helped me even more. It would surely be impossible not to notice me, when she was watching Ryan for four years and Brigid for two as they played Chaser alongside me. I hadn't needed to try out. She hadn't needed to call tryouts. She just approached me and offered me a spot as a reserve Chaser, and I'd taken it like a shot. No work involved, apart from signing the contract – I hadn't even needed to _read_ it, as Brigid had done that for me in her first proper role as my agent.

I'd possibly had to fight a _little_ to make it into the first team – something I'd achieved by the end of my first full season with the Falcons. But even that hadn't felt like a huge challenge to me. I'd just tried my best in training, and made the most of the games I'd played. The fact that Julia and Laura were both coming to the end of their careers and Sinead wanted to inject some youth into the team and create a Chaser trio with longevity had helped. So while the scale of my achievement wasn't lost on me, it had never felt like a really tough fight.

In making the England squad in the first place, I may have come close to _really_ fighting for something – but again, it had only required me to play well, and my biggest challenge had been the nerves, which I'd managed to overcome in the end. Those few, blissful hours I'd been in the squad had been some of the best of my life, but it still hadn't felt like an uphill struggle.

Getting my family back had.

But even then, Weasley love was unconditional, magnanimous, unlimited. They all loved _me_, and they forgave me in a flash.

Regaining my spot in the Falcons squad had also been an uphill struggle – and yet, Sinead had known her beloved team would be in a much better position for the climax of the season if it was at full capacity. She'd known her best move was to take me back, so she'd have me as an extra Chaser option.

Regaining my spot in the Falcons squad had also been an uphill struggle – and yet, Sinead had known her beloved team would be in a much better position for the climax of the season if it was at full capacity. She'd known her best move was to take me back, so she'd have me as an extra Chaser option.

I'd never fought for a girl before.

I hadn't had to fight for Ingrid. The only time I should have fought for her, it wouldn't even have been her I'd have been appealing to, it would have been Brigid and Albus, and I _hadn't_ fought.

I still regretted that, even now.

It wasn't that I still felt anything for her. We'd both moved on with our lives, and had had some degree of success and happiness. It was more that she'd made me happy at the time, and had given me something worth fighting for. I hated to think there was a part of my character that had allowed me to just give up.

Quidditch players didn't give up.

_Potters_ didn't give up.

And so this time, I wasn't giving up. I was going to do something I'd never done before.

And that was why I felt more nervous than I ever had before.

I took a few deep, calming breaths, and knocked on the front door.

A couple of moments passed before it was opened by a young woman I vaguely recognised, having seen her a couple of times in the Tav.

"Is Carla in?" I asked, rubbing the back of my neck subconsciously.

"You're James, right?" the girl – Felicity? – said, ignoring my question.

"Yeah. Yeah, I am." I shifted from one foot to the other. "Is she in?"

She glanced back into the flat, then looked back at me.

"She'll murder me later," she sighed. "Yes, she is – wait," she added as I made to step forward even though she was blocking the doorway. "She doesn't want to see you."

I felt a dull pang in my chest. What had I done to make her not want to see me?

"But I think she's being an idiot about it," Felicity continued. "Again, she'll kill me for telling you this – I think she really likes you. You're different to all the others she's hooked up with. The way she acted around you, the things she did with you, the way she talked about you – she ended up way in over her head. And ... I think that _scared_ her, once she realised. Because ... there's a reason, a reason why she doesn't let herself fall for people. And no matter what I, or anybody else for that matter, says to her, she won't see that she _deserves_ to be happy."

She paused.

"Why are you here?"

"Because I want to be with her," I said bluntly.

"How much do you want to be with her? How hard are you prepared to fight for her?"

"I'll fight with everything I've got," I said strongly.

"And you ... you won't get _scared_, or run off, or-"

"No, I-" I paused, remembering my conversation with Dad. "What hasn't she told me?" I asked.

Felicity shook her head slowly.

"That's for her to tell you, not me."

"And she'll tell me?"

"If you won't walk away from her, then she'll tell you."

"I won't walk away."

"You realise she'll tell you this to try to _make_ you walk away?"

I frowned.

"Is it something bad, then?"

"Well, it's not _good_, put it that way. But she makes it worse than it is – oh, I don't mean she looks for sympathy or anything like that," she added. "She just doesn't like being a burden on people. So I'm not letting you through this door unless I feel sure you won't walk away. She doesn't deserve to feel that kind of pain again. That's why she claims she doesn't want to see you; she's trying to avoid the hurt."

"I've already lost her once," I said. "I'm not going to let it happen again."

Felicity stared at me for a moment, then closed her eyes, a look of anguish on her face.

"I am so, so sorry," she said quietly. "Just ... promise me you'll be open-minded. Because I love her to pieces, and I can't bear to see her let something control her life like this. She deserves to be happy ... and with you, she is."

She pulled the door wide open, and let me cross the threshold.

"Hers is the door on the far right. And James?" she added.

Already half-way across the living room, I turned to look back at her.

"Good luck." She gave me a slight smile.

Puzzled as to why I'd need that luck – and, indeed, as to what she'd been talking about in the first place – I turned back to the door, and knocked on that piece of wood that stood between me and a whole lot of answers.

"Come in," came Carlotta's rather quiet voice.

I turned the handle, and slowly opened the door.

She was sitting up in bed, reading a book. She glanced up as I came in, then did a double take as she registered who I was.

"James?" She frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to see you." I shut the door behind me. "Are you okay? Your colleague said you're off work for a few weeks..."

"'m fine," she said, marking her page and putting the book on her bedside table. "How d'you know where I live?"

"Looked in the phone book." I shoved my hands in my pockets, feeling slightly awkward where I stood.

She eyed me suspiciously.

"You know what a phone book is?"

"Of course I do!" I said indignantly. "They taught us about them in Muggle Studies."

"I'm impressed you know Felicity's surname; her parents own this place."

I looked down at my shoes sheepishly.

"Dad got the address for me," I confessed.

"How?"

"Is it really that import-"

"Yes."

I sighed.

"Can I sit down?" I gestured towards the chair by her bed.

She shrugged, the action looking stiff.

"Sure."

I sat down gingerly.

"How'd your Dad get this address?"

She was talking slowly again, like she'd done when she'd come to see me. Her hands were buried under her duvet, so I couldn't tell if her arm was trembling weirdly like it had done on that day.

"You know I said about Memory Charms?" I began. "Well, the Ministry wanted to use one on you, when they found out that we'd stopped seeing each other. They ... they compile information on anyone who might threaten the Statute. They know loads about Lily and her friends-"

"What _kind_ of information?"

"Oh, not _that_ much-"

"You just said they know loads about Lily's friends. What _kind_ of things?"

"Just ... personal information. Birth date, parentage, job, that kind of thing. And address, obviously."

"What about medical information?" she asked curiously.

"Yeah, that too."

An intriguing expression began to cross her face. It looked hopeful, almost _joyous_...

"And you've seen it all?"

"Well, no," I confessed, and her face fell. "Dad took that bit out."

Now she frowned.

"Your Dad? Why did he have my information? Why did he take the medical stuff out? Did _he_ read it?"

Her questions came in quick-fire form; now she wasn't deliberately enunciating her words, she began to trip over them.

"He took it from the Obliviators – the people that do the Memory Charms – because he knew I wouldn't want them to Obliviate you. He ... he read the medical stuff, and took it out because he didn't want anyone seeing it. Why? What don't I know?"

"Nothing," she said quickly – too quickly. "It's just ... it's personal information, you know?"

"Are you off work _sick_?" I asked her suspiciously.

"No."

She didn't say it very convincingly.

"Carla..."

She sighed.

"Yes. Yes, I am. My sister's taking me to the doctor tomorrow. I should be back at work next week, I just need some medication."

"For what?"

She avoided the question, asking one of her own instead.

"Why are you here?"

"Isn't that obvious?" I said bluntly. "I'm here because..." I paused. "Look, I'm sorry. I should have told you about Dad before, instead of keeping it from you. But I just didn't know when to tell you! I mean, should I have dumped it on you when you first properly learned about magic? That was surely far too soon to explain all about the persecution and the wars. But I should have at least told you about it when you found out about Voldemort. I was wrong to keep it from you then. But ... I was too comfortable with the fact that you didn't know, that I could be certain that you weren't at all influenced by knowing I had a famous dad. And trust me, when it feels like almost everyone is more interested in your dad than in you, it's refreshing to find someone who quite plainly isn't. Maybe I let my relationship with Dad dictate things a bit too much, as well. But we've sorted that out now, and I'm not as bothered about how people view me any more – just the people I care about. And ... and I care about _you_."

She stared at me for a moment, before finding her voice.

"I've told you, I'm not bothered about that. So you didn't tell me ... I was mad at the time, sure. But I get why you didn't say anything, and I'm not mad any more."

"But you're holding back."

Another pause. "You just said, James, that you liked my not knowing about any of your back story. All along, that's overshadowed everything else. How can you say you care about me? You just like the fact I've no preconceptions of you, that I'm not some gold-digger after your money or your fame-"

"But it's _not_ like that!" I protested.

"How do you know that?" she challenged.

I hesitated.

"Because ... I don't know, I just _do_! I like it that you cooked for me – even before you knew a thing about me! You're funny, you're caring, you don't judge anyone, you're just an incredible person! I'm happy when I'm with you, and when I'm not with you I wish I was! I'm always relaxed around you; I don't feel any pressure to be something I'm not – and that has nothing to do with your not knowing about the fame! And on that note I know for a fact that if you _had_ known about my dad before, you wouldn't have given a damn. And I would've wanted to be with you anyway. You ... you made me realise that Quidditch isn't the only thing I care about, or the only thing that makes me happy. _You_ make me happy. When you left – I thought I'd lost you! And I couldn't handle that, I couldn't bear the thought that I'd screwed up and lost you for good. I just want _you_, I want to be with you, and I want to make you as happy as you make me."

She'd closed her eyes while I'd been speaking, and now she buried her head in her hands.

"You don't," she said, her voice muffled. "You _don't_, James, you just..." She raised her head and looked at me incredulously. "You just think you need me around to stop you screwing up again!"

"No I don't!" I protested. "I know I'll be fine, so long as I have you. But that's not _why_ I want to be with you. That's ... that's an _effect_ of me wanting to be with you! Because when I'm with you, it doesn't _matter_ what other people think of me. All that matters is you..."

I trailed off, remembering Felicity's words.

Carlotta wanted me to walk away. She didn't _want_ me to fight for her. No matter what I said, she would give me the same answer.

Unless...

"I had my secret," I said. "You've got yours. Tell me what it is."

She stared at me, the expression on her face unreadable.

"Please."

No reaction.

"_Please_."

She looked down at her duvet, and drew a deep breath.

"We were only meant to be a bit of fun," she began, slowly. "And I tried, for a while, not to let myself get too attached. The trouble is, I think I fell for you the moment you gave me your jumper to wear home the first time I met you..."

She drew a long, shuddering breath.

"At first, I convinced myself it was okay, I could still back out, there wasn't _that_ much at stake. And then I found out about magic. That stepped things up a bit. A _lot_. Suddenly, you were trusting me with something huge, and it felt like we were both more invested in this than I'd wanted to be. And yet, I couldn't pull myself away from it. I was _curious_, I wanted to learn more. I told myself, again, it was alright and I could still back out.

"I didn't think much of it when you told me you played Quidditch. I had no idea how big it was, how good you were. Then I found out, and the guilt began to grow. Because now it felt more _real_. All of a sudden I was caught up with someone in a career that was really going places, someone who strived to be the best. And it kept getting worse and worse. And then _England_ picked you...

"I turned up at yours that day to find out if you were in the squad. If you were in, your television or your paper would tell me, and if you weren't, you'd be at home and you'd probably need consoling. I figured if that was the case, I could do that. It was the least I owed you. I turned up and you weren't there. The paper was. I read you were in, and I was delighted for you ... but at the same time, it was the worst feeling in the world. Playing for _England_ ... the world at your fingertips, matches all over the place, years of fun and success ahead of you ... but you couldn't have any of that with me around.

"And then I read your profile, and learned all about your dad ... and I was angry. But I was more upset than angry. I was upset that you didn't feel you could confide in me about your dad's fame. And that was when it hit me that I was in _far_ too deep. Because why _should_ I care that you didn't feel able to talk to me about something? I knew I had to back out, so you could have the career you wanted. And I was too much of a coward to tell you the real reason why, so I _used_ that article, and the one about me, as an excuse to get mad and leave you. But I ... I never wanted to cause you harm, I had no idea you'd react like you did..."

She trailed off. I gave her a moment, before pressing her.

"What were you too scared to tell me?"

She closed her eyes again.

"I'm off work sick," she said. "I'm _permanently_ sick. There's medication to control it, but I can't be cured, and it's just going to get _worse_..."

I had a bad feeling about what was to come.

"Is one of the symptoms shaking, per chance?" I asked tentatively.

She nodded, her eyes still squeezed tight shut.

"It's a disease that affects the nerves. You won't have heard of it, because it's primarily a Muggle disease; you guys seem to have some kind of built in _immunity_ to it." She sounded slightly bitter.

I felt a slight sinking feeling in my stomach. Of all the people to have something like _this_ thrown at them ... of all the people to be denied an easy ride at something so foreign to them, it had to be _me_.

"Don't call it a disease-" I began.

She let out a hollow laugh, and finally looked back at me.

"Why not? That's what they call it, James. Parkinson's disease. I'm _abnormal_. In fact I'm doubly abnormal, because you're not supposed to get it this young. Most people who get it are at least fifty when the symptoms hit, not _twenty_. And yet, here I am, with my stupid tremors and my stupid rigid muscles and my stupid speech..."

She sounded close to tears.

"But it..." I had no idea what to say, no idea what I was meant to _think _about the curveball that had been just thrown my way. "It can't be that bad, surely?"

It was the wrong thing to say; I realised it almost before the words came out of my mouth. She gave me a scathing glare.

"Most of the time you've seen me, the medication has been suppressing the symptoms. You've not seen me on a bad day. Apart from that night you found me outside the Tav..."

I remembered that clear as a bell.

"Is _that_ what was wrong?"

"I was drunk, too," she confessed. "But yes, a lot of it was down to the disease. I was ... I was having a bad day. Sometimes it all gets too much. That time that I forgot about your match? Another symptom is memory loss. I would never have forgotten it otherwise, and I was devastated when I realised I'd have to miss it."

I licked my lips nervously.

"What – what else is there?" I asked uncertainly, not overly sure I really _wanted_ to know.

"Aside from the shaking and the stiffness and the slurred speech and the memory loss? You want _more_?" She sighed. "I don't sleep very well. You've never noticed, because you're a heavy sleeper, but I lie awake for hours on end every night. I just can't get to sleep. And sometimes I struggle to stand up or get out of bed – you know, like an _old_ person does," she added in a condescending tone of voice. "That's what it is. I'm prematurely old. And it's just going to get worse. There are other symptoms I could develop at any point. The medication only works for a time, before I begin to become immune to it and the symptoms get worse and I have to get my dosage increased. That's why Juanita's taking me to the doctor's. I'll be okay – well, as okay as I _can_ be – once I've gotten that prescription. But I can't work like this."

She pulled her arm out from under the duvet. It was trembling even more than it had the other week.

"I could whisk the eggs and shake the cocktails damn well, but that's about all I'm good for right now," she said bitterly.

It was all beginning to sink in, bit by bit, now the initial shock had worn off. But there was one piece of the puzzle that I couldn't fit.

"I don't get why this changes things," I said.

She stared at me incredulously.

"James, I'm a burden. I'm a bloody _cripple_. I'd hold anyone back, let alone _you_. You have your whole life ahead of you, you still have huge England prospects, you could go anywhere and do anything. Me? I shake, and I slur, and I forget stuff. You don't want someone like me hanging around the place, I'll just hamper you. You could be so successful, so _happy_, you don't need me around..."

I was shaking my head.

"So, you're just going to let this dictate your life for you?" I said. "You won't let yourself be happy-"

"Who says I'm not happy?"

"You look me in the eye, and tell me you'd be happier without me."

"I'd be happier knowing I wasn't holding you back." She looked back down at her lap, her voice barely a whisper.

"That's not convincing, and you _know_ it. You're just letting yourself become a puppet for this illness-"

"At least I know who I am!" she burst out, raising her head to look up at me again.

It was my turn to let out an empty laugh.

"No, you don't-"

"I'm _fine_, James! I'm going to keep working at the Tav until I have enough money to open my own place. I'm happy when I'm cooking! I like making other people happy, and food is one of the best ways to do that. At least that way I don't end up hurting them in the meantime."

"So you're just going to live for your job, and not let yourself get attached to anyone?"

"Yes, I am. Sound familiar?"

"I-" I came to a halt as the words hit me like the Hogwarts Express. "I don't do that-"

"I see how much Quidditch means to you. You love it. It's your _everything_. The same as cooking is to me. That's all you are. A Quidditch-player-robot who won't let himself get close to a girl-"

"I am now!" I burst out.

"Well, I won't let you!" she replied. "Not with me. You deserve better than _this_."

I shook my head numbly.

"How can you _say_ that? I don't _care_, Carla, it doesn't make a difference to me if you have an incurable illness-"

"James, you don't even know what it is!" she cried, her control over her speech well and truly gone. "You have no idea, none at all, what kind of a sacrifice dating me would be! Trust me, when you learn you'd turn tail, just like everybody else-"

She stopped mid-sentence, breathing heavily.

And that was when I fully clocked on.

"Someone left you, didn't they?"

"You can leave now," she said quietly.

"Carla, just because someone else got cold feet, doesn't mean I will-"

"Leave me."

"Carla, _please_-"

She rolled over onto her side, her back facing me.

"You don't know a thing about this," she said. "You can't possibly make a rational decision on it. So I'll make it for you. Now you can leave."

"I'm not walking away from you."

There was a pause. When she next spoke, it sounded like she was crying.

"James, I'm not asking you, I'm _telling_ you. Leave me alone."

I didn't want to. All I wanted to do was to climb into bed next to her and hold her, and tell her everything was going to be okay. But I couldn't. How could I tell her things would be alright? I hadn't even the slightest idea about what this disease really was, and for as long as I remained ignorant, she had one over me. Because she was right – I couldn't make a proper decision without knowing the full facts.

But despite that, I was still certain they wouldn't be enough to change my mind.

"I'll leave you alone," I told her, getting to my feet. "But I promise you, I'm _not_ walking away."

Felicity was reading a book in the living room. She looked up as I left Carlotta's room.

"She told you, huh?" she asked quietly once I'd shut the door behind me.

I paused for a moment, gathering my thoughts.

"Is she _really_ a burden?"

Felicity's face fell, and she put her book down.

"Of _course_ not," she said. "I love her to pieces, and she could _never_ be a burden. Sure, Parky gets in the way sometimes-"

"Parky?"

"We – me and the other girls – figured if we gave it a name, it might make her feel slightly better about it. But it doesn't. She's stubborn, see. She's letting it _become_ her, she's not letting herself live her life properly. She was diagnosed just before we left school two years ago. She had a boyfriend at the time; she'd been with him a couple of years, so it was quite serious at that point – it wasn't as though it was early days or anything. And at first he told her he'd stick around." She scoffed. "Yeah, _that_ didn't last long. Bastard got cold feet, ditched her a month or so later." She paused. "I mean, I get that it's a big fucking deal, but she's still _Carla_, you know? If he really cared about her, he'd have stayed with her and coped with the bad times. Us girls manage fine. And I'll be honest with you, there _can_ be bad times. But _nothing_ is, or will ever be, bad enough to make me run out on her. And yeah, it's big, but at the same time, it's not, you know? Because we all care about her, and that makes it easier, knowing that she needs us, even if she won't admit it.

"The worst bit about it isn't the trembling or her hopeless memory or anything like that; it's how downhearted she gets about it. Sometimes it feels as though nothing you can say can make it better, that the only thing that _would_ is a cure, and that doesn't exist. She needs people around her, people who love her and care about her and will stop her from letting it control her life. But she can't bear the thought that she's having an adverse effect on someone else's life..."

"But that's crazy," I interrupted.

A slight smile spread across her face.

"I love her, and I want her to be happy," she said. "If you honestly think you can cope with Parky..."

"I told her I can, but she won't listen," I confessed. "She says I don't know enough to judge properly."

Felicity's face fell.

"That sounds about right for Carlotta," she said glumly.

"But she's got a point," I said. "And she's going to cling to that for as long as she can, isn't she?"

"You know her too well," she sighed. "And even if you go away and learn everything there is to know, she'll find something else."

"But she can't keep pushing me away," I said, more hopefully than confidently.

"She doesn't want to," she agreed. "She'll give in eventually. If you care enough to persevere-"

"Of course I do."

"Then prove it." Felicity's look was almost a pleading one. "Make her give in. Help her see that it doesn't have to be like this. We do all we can, but we were already in her life, she needs to learn she can let someone else _in_. You can be the one to do that, if you care enough. But I swear, if there's even the slightest chance you'll let her down, then don't even try because she can't deal with that kind of hurt again. And if you don't think you can adjust to this ... then don't even bother coming back."

I frowned.

"But ... wouldn't that upset her?"

"It would, yes. Which is why she initially decided not to tell you anything; that way, at least she wouldn't have to face rejection. But if she must face it, better that it's now rather than further down the line, when it will hurt more."

I was already shaking my head.

"That won't happen," I vowed. "I won't ... I won't _leave_..."

"How can you say that _now_?" she asked. "Carla's right; you have no idea what this entails..."

"I don't know," I admitted. "But I'll find out, like she wants me to ... and then I'll come back. And I won't leave."

I barely knew anything about this situation I found myself in. But that, I knew for certain.

* * *

><p><em>AN: A couple of years ago, I saw a film called _Love and Other Drugs_ in the cinema. The plot was a typical boy-meets-girl with the slight issue that the girl had early onset Parkinson's. Even while I was in the cinema watching the film, I thought "This could make a good fanfic" and _Off the Rails _was born. So I owe a thanks to the writers of __that initial plot, for inspiring my story._

_I've done a fair amount of research on this, to make it as convincing as I possibly can, but I realise that I may still be wrong on some points as we go along. I always welcome constructive criticism, but on this point I will be overly receptive to any helpful comments. :)_

_I just want to take this moment to thank everyone who's reviewed so far. It really means a lot to know that people are enjoying my work enough to leave a review. So whether it's been one line or ten, thank you all very much :)_


	43. forty-three

"How did you know?" I asked as soon as Dad opened the door.

He frowned. "Know what?"

"Carlotta, of course!" I elaborated, as I pushed past him into the hallway.

He gave me an odd look and shut the door.

"Are you suffering from memory loss or something? I told you, it was in the file-"

"No, I don't mean about _that_." I continued into the kitchen. "I mean, how did you know that was why she was holding back?"

"Oh," he said. "Well, I guessed, really. It seemed to make sense she wouldn't want to burden anyone else."

There was that word again. _Burden_.

"And you'd know all about that, huh?" I sat down in my chair and rocked back on two legs. "You're the pro at the whole 'don't get too close to me or you'll just get hurt' mentality. And it worked _really_ well for you."

He sighed heavily, and pushed himself up to perch on the kitchen unit – even Dad rebelled when Mum wasn't around to scold him.

"It's a horrible feeling, to be dragging people you love and care about into such a situation," he said. "Of course, I know now that I couldn't have defeated Voldemort without Ron and Hermione's help, and trying to push your mother away hardly changed how we felt about each other. But I hated the thought that they were doing something detrimental for _my_ cause. Even if they – and the whole family – _were_ fighting for the bigger picture, and wanted Voldemort dead as much as I did, they still risked themselves further still for my sake. It's not a nice thought, James. I realise it's a different situation here, but it's still the same principle; it's about not wanting to see someone else sacrifice so much when they don't have to. It's one thing choosing to make a sacrifice yourself; it's a lot harder to accept it when other people do the same thing for you."

"Well, at least we know which house she'd have been in if she were magical, what with that attitude." I sighed. "But if she's going to get all Gryffindorish on me, I'm going to play the same game. Her situation might be different to yours in some ways, but I'm going to be as stubborn as Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione were on this one. If she thinks she's getting rid of me that easily, she's got another think coming."

The expression on Dad's face was a mixture of pride and concern.

"James, you _do_ realise what this entails, don't you?" he asked gently. "Trust me, I _totally_ understand your stance here – you want to help her, and I can't criticise that in the slightest – but I don't want you going into this blind."

I frowned.

"How do _you_ know so much about it?" I asked. He'd been raised as a Muggle, but only until he was eleven, and I seriously doubted he'd have had that much awareness of long-term Muggle illnesses at that age.

"Your Aunt Audrey's talked about it a few times; it's part of her research."

_Of course_. Aunt Audrey was a research Healer, which meant she did more than just treat people in the hospital; she worked on projects concerning medical advances alongside her hospital work. She'd been working on her current project for the last ten years; it was a hugely important one, and received a huge amount of Ministry funding and support. She'd been tasked with trying to find magical cures for Muggle illnesses which were currently thought to be incurable. I knew that one strand of her research involved trying to discover why we seemed to be all-but unsusceptible to such illnesses, and whether this immunity could be shaped into a cure for Muggles. Unfortunately, that road had led to a dead end a long time ago; it seemed the immunity was a part and parcel of being magical, and given that we still had no idea what made someone magical in the first place (or, indeed, what deprived people like Lily of magic, or how Muggleborns like Aunt Hermione gained their abilities) there was no way of garnering a cure that way.

"If you want answers," Dad continued, "then Audrey's the person to ask."

* * *

><p>"<em>Parkinson's<em> disease," she said, stunned. "_How_ old is Carlotta, again?"

"Twenty," I said morosely. Right then I felt so down about the situation that even Aunt Audrey's mouth-watering shortbread, sitting between us at the table – why were my family conversations always orientated around kitchen tables? – didn't appeal to me.

"Well, you sure know how to pick them, Jim."

"Not helping."

"I'm sorry." She looked it. "It's just rare for someone that young to develop it..."

"I know," I said darkly. "Is ... is there honestly nothing that can cure it?"

"Afraid not," she said regretfully. "Only stopgaps, things to make the symptoms less severe. But they'll get worse; they always do. And more will crop up, too. It ... it's only downhill from here, I'm afraid."

I didn't want to think of it like that.

"There are always ways around things," I said firmly. "Surely we must have _something_? Maybe not a cure, but a more effective way of treating the symptoms? I mean, we have potions that help muscle stiffness – I _know_ we do, because I've used them before, after a long Quidditch match..."

"There _are_ things available," she admitted. "And they may be more effective than the Muggle remedies in terms of stopping the pain. But ... they're not ideal solutions, Jim. It's not wise for Carlotta to start using magical remedies instead of the Muggle ones she's used to. She's far from fully integrated into magical society, and forcing that would be a bad move for everyone concerned. And it would be detrimental for her to start using our remedies when she's not living in our society, because what if she then has to go back to Muggle treatment? Her body wouldn't be used to it any more. Not to mention, her Muggle doctor presumably keeps track of the severity of her symptoms. We shouldn't get in the way of that. She's a Muggle, with a Muggle illness; if we can't cure it, then we can't get in the way of how it's treated. Does that make sense?"

It did, but it didn't mean I liked hearing it.

"I promise you, Jim, I'm still researching this. This project is endless; I'll keep going until I find something. I may have exhausted a lot of avenues, but there _must_ still be something I've not covered yet. I'll keep looking, I'll do all I can. For you."

I felt an enormous swell of gratitude towards my favourite aunt.

"I – thank you." I felt a slight lump in my throat.

She smiled gently at me.

"You ... you do realise just how big this is, don't you?" she said tentatively. "I don't want you wading into something you don't fully understand..."

"I'm beginning to piece things together." I propped my head up on one closed fist. "It's not going to be _easy_, sure, but that doesn't mean I'm going to run away from it."

"She'll need looking after," Aunt Audrey said warily.

"I know."

"And things will just get more severe."

"She's worth it."

Aunt Audrey sighed heavily.

"James, your heart is as large as your father's," she said. Her expression grew somewhat sorrowful. "I guess this explains the interest Carlotta seemed to show in all of our magical medicine..."

I frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"Lu told her I was a Healer, and she asked if she could look through some of my books. Well, it doesn't take much imagination to realise what she was thinking. You can just see it, can't you? Having to come to terms with the fact what she's got is incurable ... and then she discovers there's a whole other world out there, one where _everything_ seems possible. One where people can _fly_, where things can be vanished into thin air and conjured from it, where a mere cold is cured with a sip of a potion and broken bones are healed in a trice ... it would give _anyone_ hope there was something out there that could help them. And then, that gut-wrenching realisation that even we can't provide an answer for her ... having her hopes completely dashed, realising there really is nothing out there that can provide her with that cure that she so badly craves. Having to come to terms with it all over again..."

I closed my eyes. My hands were shaking with emotion. It was almost too much to think about.

"Why won't she just _let me in_?" I pleaded.

That question haunted me for the rest of the night, long after I'd left Aunt Audrey's. Why couldn't she just let me help her? Was it resentment over the fact that magic could only do so much, that even in our world there were impossibilities? Was it pride, a refusal to admit she _did_ need – and _want_ – someone to be there for her regardless of how ill she was?

Or just a fear of feeling guilty for taking something away from my life by being in it – except that thought was utterly laughable. Couldn't she see it was just the opposite, that she _added_ so much to my life, gave me something else – not to _live_ for, but at least to _work_ for?

Right now I felt so angry – not at Carlotta, but at the _situation_. How was this fair? How was it fair that we magical people were all-but immune from these illnesses which were so resilient, while non-magical people were forced to put up a fight that seemed futile, trying to battle things like this Parkinson's, and cancer-

I sat bolt upright in my bed as I reached this thought.

I knew who else I could talk to about this. Someone who'd know Carlotta's state of mind like nobody else, somebody who'd surely know all the answers to the questions that still remained.

* * *

><p>"James."<p>

Ingrid had always had impeccable control over her emotions, but even she was unable to mask her surprise at seeing me on her doorstep.

"Hi." I smiled nervously. "Sorry for just turning up like this..."

"No, it's fine." She'd regained her composure. "Please, come in."

I happily obliged.

"We were just about to have dinner, if you'd like to join us-"

"Oh, no, I wouldn't like to impose on your hospitality like that-" I began, as my stomach betrayed me by letting out a rumble.

She gave a slight smile.

"Don't be silly, of course you won't be imposing. There's more than enough for three, and besides, you must have come straight from training."

"Yeah, I have," I admitted. The day had passed in somewhat of a whirlwind; my body may have been at Falmouth, but my mind certainly hadn't been, and Sinead had had to threaten me with being benched to try to get some kind of reaction out of me.

"It's shepherd's pie," Ingrid added now, with a knowing look on her face.

One of my favourite meals...

"You still know me too well," I said wryly, allowing her to lead me through the house and into the living room.

"And you've not changed one bit," she said. "I think introductions are needed. James, this is Mark, my boyfriend. Mark, this is James Potter..."

The man sitting in the large armchair looked as though he might have been quite good-looking once, before the cancer had riddled his body. As it was, he looked incredibly frail, though he was still able to half-raise himself out of his chair and hold out a hand for me to shake.

"You don't need to tell me who he is, love," he replied in an amused tone. "Lovely to meet you, James. I've heard so much about you-"

"-and he's a huge fan of the Falcons," Ingrid added.

I grinned, and shook his hand warmly, though careful not to squeeze too much. "Always a pleasure to meet a fellow fan."

"You'll join us for dinner?" he asked, resettling himself in his chair and tucking his blankets back round his lap.

"If I'm welcome..." I said tentatively.

"Of course you are! Any friend of Ingrid's is more than welcome, and there's enough food to go round."

I was warming to him already.

"Take a seat," Ingrid said, indicating the sofa. "We eat off trays, if you don't mind that. Can I get you a drink? Butterbeer? Mead?"

"Pumpkin juice will be fine, if you have some."

"Of course." She shot me a knowing look, which told me that she had correctly guessed I was avoiding alcohol, and bustled out of the room.

I sat down gingerly on the sofa, looking across the room at Mark.

"Ravenclaw," I said, as I cracked who he was. "Five years older than me; you were in Seventh Year when I was in Second. I played you at Quidditch once, you were a Chaser too..."

He grinned, clearly also recalling the match.

"And you were far better than me, if I remember rightly. You guys completely outplayed us. I knew from that moment that you'd be a pro one day." He paused. "I'm impressed you remember that, though. I have every reason to remember that match, but you..."

I shrugged.

"I guess I remember things like that. I could tell you about every match I ever played for Gryffindor. How long have you been a Falcons fan, then?"

"For as long as I've known about Quidditch," he replied. "My dad's a big fan. I'm not one of these glory supporters who only jumped on the bandwagon when we started winning the League."

"Always good to hear," I said with a grin.

"I was so excited when you signed," he continued. "Given how good you were at twelve, and how well the reports said you played for Gryffindor after I left, I thought you were a cracking signing. Especially as Murphy was already there. And you proved me right."

I felt a pang of guilt – a sensation that had become all too familiar recently – as I thought about my actions over recent weeks. Mark was just one of so many Falcons fans who loved their club, and I'd let them all down massively. To make matters worse, that thought hadn't even crossed my mind until now. The fans were the heartbeat of the club; without them, we would be nothing. And yet, we barely seemed to give them a second thought at times.

Luckily, Mark didn't seem to pick up on this inner turmoil.

Ingrid returned, levitating a large tray which held three plates and three glasses. She removed one of the plates and handed it to Mark, along with one of the glasses. I watched with a slight smile as she fussed over him, in a way I wouldn't have expected from her. It seemed so odd, especially when I thought how her mother had carried herself in comparison whenever I'd visited them. But then, Ingrid had always strived to be everything her mother _wasn't_, and had been as warm as Mrs Feversham was cold. That caring nature had always been there ... it just seemed stronger now than when we were at Hogwarts. Not that that was much of a surprise, I considered, given her current situation.

I pulled myself out of my thoughts to take my own food and drink from her, with thanks. For ten minutes or so, there was a pleasant silence, peppered with the occasional compliment or light-hearted remark, as we all ate. My problems could wait, especially when I had homemade shepherd's pie on my lap.

Once we'd all finished, Ingrid set her plate down on the floor, tucked her legs up underneath her and turned to face me.

"It's good to see you're better. Have you managed to work everything out yet?"

"Most things," I said. "Things with Dad are good. _Really_ good, actually. But Carlotta..." I paused, wondering how to word it.

And once my thoughts turned again to Carlotta, something else occurred to me.

She'd come to see me – sent by Lily – two days after Ingrid had talked to me. Two days after I'd told Ingrid everything about Carlotta.

That couldn't be coincidence.

"You visited my sister."

Ingrid looked slightly sheepish.

"I – I thought it might help-"

I was all but lost for words.

"Thank you. I – I really appreciate it."

"You're more than welcome," she said. "So, how are things with her?"

"I-" I shifted in my seat. "That's why I'm here, actually. I was hoping you might be able to help me, both of you..." I shot a nervous glance in Mark's direction. They would know, the moment I said it, exactly what I was here for ... they wouldn't be offended, would they?

"We'll do our best." She sounded slightly curious.

I rubbed at the back of my neck, conscious of the fact I'd been doing that far too much recently.

"She has Parkinson's disease," I blurted out.

Ingrid frowned, and glanced across the room at Mark.

"Is that what your grandmother has?" she asked.

"Yeah," he answered, looking puzzled, "yeah, it is. How old is this ... woman?" he asked me in turn.

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, I couldn't help but smile slightly, remembering how Aunt Audrey had asked the same question.

"She's twenty."

"Bloody..." His puzzled expression turned into a shocked one.

Ingrid, meanwhile, wore a look of complete comprehension.

"She doesn't want you to stick around, does she?"

"No," I sighed.

"But you want to?"

"Yes."

"Okay. First off – don't take this the wrong way – do you know what you'd be getting yourself into?"

"Of course I do," I bristled. "I've talked to Dad, and my Aunt, and Carlotta's friend-"

"Okay, okay." She held up her hands in defence. "I had to ask, James. Because ... she obviously cares about you very much. If she didn't, she wouldn't be quite so concerned about keeping you at arm's length. Deep inside her, she wants you to stick around – because nobody wants to be alone, do they? Unfortunately, there's a part of her that thinks that's a selfish wish, that she doesn't deserve you. It's a perfectly rational thought to have. You just have to convince her she's wrong. She'll want to give in, and the more you persevere the more likely you are to be successful. You just have to keep trying to knock down those walls she hides behind. You'll do it in the end."

"But how?" I asked.

Ingrid smiled slightly.

"How did she knock yours down?" she asked. "I'm sure you'll manage. Make sure she sees that you'll keep turning up like a bad knut, that you _want_ to help her and won't see her as a hindrance. Eventually, she'll cave. It won't be easy; there will always be a part of her that thinks you'd be better off without her. But so long as _you_ know you won't leave..." She leaned forwards and squeezed my hand lightly. "She just needs to know she'll be loved. And I think you'd be pretty damn good at that."

"You think?" I said.

"I _know_," she said sincerely. "Just..." She paused for a moment. "It won't all be an easy ride. There will be hard times. But if anyone has the strength to cope with that, it's you." She glanced at her watch. "I'm really sorry, Jimmy, but I'm going to have to clear up and dash, I've got work in half an hour..."

"That's fine," I said as she got to her feet. "You've been a great help, thank you."

"Any time," she said softly, before busying herself taking the plates out.

The moment she'd left the room, Mark leaned forwards, shutting the door to the hall with a wave of his wand.

"Might I give you some advice?" he asked.

"Sure."

"Don't do it. Don't ... it's a life sentence, James. You say you understand what it entails, and it may seem easy enough now, but you really don't, and it's really not. You've got a great career, don't throw that all away now. Steer well away from that kind of mess."

I frowned in puzzlement.

"Well then surely _I'm_ being selfish?"

He shook his head.

"It's not being selfish, it's just doing what's best for _you_. Trust me on this one, I know what I'm talking about. Stay clear..."

I stared at him for a moment, stunned, before I caught on.

"This is about you, isn't it?" I said. "You feel guilty about Ingrid..."

"Look at her, James. _Look_ at her. She works herself to the bone. She's juggling two jobs just trying to keep us afloat. And what good is it doing either of us? What can _I_ give her? My days are numbered, we both know that. She shouldn't be stuck with some cripple like me-"

"I don't think she thinks she's stuck," I interrupted him. "Didn't you hear what she said to me? All of that ... that's how _she_ feels. She loves you. She wants to help you, she's _happy_. Much happier than she'd be if you were to push her away and not let her do anything. You can't honestly tell me you'd rather be alone..."

"It's not about me," he said firmly. "It's about _her_, and how she's thrown her life away because of me-"

"She clearly doesn't feel the same-"

"Because she's an idiot!" he cried. "Because she cares _too_ much, she thinks about other people too much – Merlin, what kind of a Slytherin does that anyway? She should've been a Hufflepuff – or maybe a Gryffindor, you lions are good at being stubborn and making rash decisions. The point is, she deserves far more than her lot-"

"And you don't deserve to be happy?" I put in.

"Not at her expense-"

"But she's not unhappy."

It was at that moment that I realised just how big my challenge was. But no matter what Mark had said, or _could_ say, I wasn't going to change my mind.

"She's happier now than she would be if you pushed her away," I continued. "Because she loves you, and wants to be there for you. And that's ... that's what love is, isn't it? Being willing to do anything for the one you love, to make them happy, and not seeing it as a hardship at all ... none of that matters to her, so long as she can be there for you. And if you love her, then you'll let her do it. And I'm going to do the same thing."

I got to my feet.

"It's been nice to meet you. Thanks for the food and company. And you _do_ deserve her, no matter how much you try to convince yourself that you don't."

I'd evidently rendered him speechless; he said nothing as I left the room. In the hallway, I bumped into Ingrid.

"He didn't need to shut the door," she said quietly. "I know exactly what he was saying. That's what I meant, when I said Carlotta will always think you're better off without her. That's the hardest part about all of this. Not the fact he's in physical pain ... but the _mental_ pain, the conviction that he's not good enough for me, that I might be happier elsewhere..." She shook her head. "He can't get rid of me that easily."

She smiled painfully. I squeezed her hand lightly, not sure of what I could say to help.

"If you ever need to talk..." I began.

She kissed me lightly on the cheek.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "And good luck with Carlotta. You'll be fine, I know you will."

The moment the front door shut behind me, I pulled my phone out and made a phone call.

"Brie," I said the moment she answered, "I need two more tickets for the Bats match."


	44. forty-four

After visiting Ingrid, I forced myself to push the entire Carlotta issue to the back of my mind, at least until after the Kestrels match, which was now only two days away. I couldn't afford to let myself get distracted by anything else, no matter how important that 'anything else' was. I'd already let it cloud my mind too much this week, and while I wanted to get things resolved with her, I also wanted to win this match. Only one of those things could wait.

Putting it to one side wasn't easy, not when all I wanted to do was to head back to Carlotta's and this time refuse to leave. But I owed my teammates. I'd let them down once already, and I couldn't do that again. They needed me to be in form and on the ball. So I did what I'd learned to do many years ago, and quashed all of my non-Quidditch-related thoughts.

Sinead again chose to delay the announcement of her team until Thursday. This was partly a show of confidence. It meant she trusted us to tidy up our team tactics within two days, as opposed to the three we were used to. It was more than just that, though. It was also a move of empathy – she wanted to save a certain young man as many sleepless nights as she possibly could.

It was clear from the squad's reactions to her announcement that she'd let few people into the secret of who was to play against the Kestrels. Jake looked utterly stunned when he heard he was playing, as did nearly the rest of the squad. Only Cato, Cleo, Keira and Alfie looked unsurprised, which made sense; Sinead would have let her senior Beater and her captain in on the plan, and the Bagmans would surely have known she'd be forced to leave them out of the team. The rest of the team swallowed their surprise quickly, and moved in to congratulate Jake on his second start.

Roxanne too had looked pleasantly surprised when her name had been called, as though it hadn't crossed her mind she was a definite at least for _this_ match. I realised at that point that she also wouldn't know we were effectively battling each other for the third spot in the team to play the Bats – that was, if she hadn't already nabbed it. My stomach lurched with sickening nerves at that thought.

Sinead had managed to schmooze the German national team's management, so that Della was allowed to play in this match. She looked excited at the prospect of playing alongside both me and Roxanne. Her admiration of our talent hadn't gone unsaid, so it was easy to see why this team line-up enthused her, even if I didn't quite understand her excitement. It seemed peculiar to me that one of Germany's best ever Chasers, and indeed one of the best Chasers in the world right now, should be so honoured to be playing alongside _me_, especially when I remembered my thrill at playing alongside her for the first time.

At first, I didn't feel nervous about the match at all. Yes, we had to win it to keep our control over the top of the table, but I knew that we _could_ win, so I wasn't worried.

Jake was, though. It was understandable; he'd only just made his debut, and now Sinead was throwing him to the lions. He'd played incredibly well against the Cannons, but they were far from the best team in the League. Jake was no fool; he knew this, and so would only take a small amount of comfort from his performance. It was a good attitude to have – complacency and over-confidence were perhaps a professional player's worst enemies, and he would be guilty of both if he were to think himself invincible on the back of that match – but under-confidence could also be harmful. It was easier to deal with than cockiness, though, and certainly preferable. I'd take Jake's nerves over McLaggen's lack of them any day.

Thursday's training started okay, but soon took a downhill tumble as Jake's nerves utterly pulled him apart. With every mistake, his confidence took yet another battering, as he convinced himself he wasn't up for the job. I could tell Sinead was beginning to worry she'd overestimated his mental strength. I decided intervention was needed, and took my opportunity when she signalled a break after Roxanne was almost taken out by a Bludger.

"Remember your first Quidditch game for Hufflepuff?" I asked Jake as I landed next to him on the bench.

The memory brought the smallest of smiles to his face.

"It was against us, I seem to remember," I continued. "It was Roxie's first match as well – and Freddie and Albus', actually. Roxie played well – damn well. Took even Ryan by surprise. Freddie had a good game at Beater, too. But I seem to recall this annoying little shit in yellow, who was always _there_ with a Bludger to smack at us, and ruined countless scoring opportunities for us. He made our Freddie look mediocre in comparison, and almost knocked Al off his broom. We were lucky to win that match in the end – and the Cup as well, actually. You guys came second that year, didn't you? Little Ruby Ellerby rocked up on the scene at the same time, and you had Wadcock and Keily as well. Not a bad team at all. But – forgive me if I sound arrogant here – we had a damn good team as well that year. And yet, you didn't seem nervous..."

He laughed hollowly.

"Oh, I was," he said. "I was petrified at first. That first shot that took the Quaffle out of your hands was an accident. But then I guess I figured that the only person who could control my performance was _me_."

I grinned, unable to help myself.

"So what's the difference here, then?"

He turned to look at me, realising the trap I'd neatly led him into.

"Well – that was _school_! This is totally different-"

"How?" I asked simply. "You're playing, I'm playing, Roxie's playing, Keily's playing for them ... same players, right? Just a little bit bigger than we used to be. It's the same sport, just on a slightly bigger pedestal. You've got exactly the same job as the one you had as a scrawny little twelve year old. What's the worry?"

"They're _better_ than you guys were at school though," he said. "No offence," he added hurriedly.

"None taken," I said with another grin. "Sure, they're better. But we're all better. _You're_ better now than you were then, as well. And you're more than a match for them.

"I remember my first big match for the Falcons. We were playing the Tornados at Tutshill. I was playing alongside Ryan and Della for the first time. And I was petrified. I'd played with Ryan for years at school, but he was _incredible_ by that point, one of the best Chasers in the league that season. And as for _Della_ ... she was the big name signing, the German star ... I couldn't believe I was anywhere near their level of talent, let alone that I was being trusted to play alongside them, against the likes of Robins and McLaggen.

"And then I got up into the air, and got the Quaffle in my hands ... and I felt at home. It felt _right_. I was where I belonged. The guys alongside and opposite me were just normal people, who liked flying and playing as much as I did. If I was fallible, then so were they. And more importantly, if _they_ were so good ... then why couldn't I be just as good?

"I didn't have a perfect match. I'm not sure I've ever had a perfect match, or if _anyone_ has ever had a perfect match. But I put in a performance I was pleased with. You just have to shut out the outside world, forget you're playing for the Falcons against the Kestrels at the end of the season, and just tell yourself you're back in those yellow robes, playing a school match again. Because it's just as even a playing field now as it was back then. And besides, Sinead clearly thinks you've got the ability-"

"I'm not so sure she does now," he put in, though he looked a bit more at ease than he had before.

"You're just human." I shrugged. "She's been there before, she knows it's just nerves getting to you. Besides, surely it's best to get all the nerves and mistakes out of your system on the training pitch, rather than on the playing field?"

"What if they come back on Saturday though?"

"Oh, the nerves will be there. In fact, they'd _better_ be there; otherwise it means you're turning into McLaggen and that's the last thing we need."

He allowed himself a wry grin.

"But the mistakes? You can keep them away. You're the only one who _can_ keep them away, but I know you can do it. We all do. So go out there and show us what you've got," I finished, ruffling his hair.

"Get out of it, Junior." He laughed, and pushed my hand away.

"I'm being called _Junior_ by a kid two years younger than me. Utter madness." I shook my head in mock disbelief. "On with you, Jenkins. Go on, go hit some iron."

He grinned, and got to his feet.

"Thanks, James. You're right; I guess I just need to believe in myself a little bit more."

And with that, he mounted his broom and kicked off into the air again, oozing with confidence, and called down to Cato to release one of the Bludgers.

Satisfied, I turned to head towards Della and Roxanne. I noticed Keira watching me, an unreadable expression on her face. I shot her a smile, and she winked back at me.

* * *

><p>I may have managed to calm down our Beater's nerves, but on Saturday it was my turn to come unravelled.<p>

"I need to play well," I told Mum as she cooked my breakfast. "From what I've gathered, Sinead hasn't decided whether to play me or Roxanne against the Bats. If I play poorly, and she plays well, she'll get the spot. And while I want her to do well..."

"You don't want it to be at your expense," Mum supplied when I trailed off. "It's perfectly understandable, James; you don't need to feel guilty about it. Team sports are cruel. You find yourself pitted against your own team mates in a battle to play. It's okay to want to beat them into the team, but it's important that you're graceful in defeat if they beat you to a spot. And I know you will be. But I think you're letting yourself worry too much. Just go out there and _play_. Bear in mind that Roxanne's only played five games this season-"

"But I've not played many more," I interjected.

"No, but you have two seasons on her," she pointed out. "Experience is invaluable. I think you'll be fine."

"You have to say that," I grumbled. "You're my mother."

"That may be so, but it doesn't stop me from being right. Remember, I'm _always_ right."

"There's no arguing with you, is there?" I sighed.

"You're learning," she said approvingly.

"There's still hope for me yet – how many are you cooking for?" I frowned, noticing she was cooking more than she normally did for just me and her...

She turned and opened her mouth to answer the question, but it proved to be redundant as a quiet _pop_ sounded from the living room. Moments later, Dad strolled into the kitchen.

"Morning, James," he said around a yawn.

"I – what are you doing here?" I asked, gobsmacked.

"I thought I might join you and your mother for breakfast this morning." He helped himself to a glass of pumpkin juice. "If that's alright with you?"

"I – yeah, sure, that's fine." I tried – and failed – to hide my smile.

"So, how're you feeling?" he asked, taking a seat opposite me.

"Harry!" Mum scolded. "Don't offer to help me cook, then!"

"I didn't think you'd want me to. You always tell me off for getting in the way at home," he said innocently.

I hid a snicker.

She sighed and hit him round the head with a tea towel. He raised his arm, caught it and tugged. She squealed and fell into his lap, and he pulled her into a deep kiss.

"Do you mind?" I said loudly.

They pulled apart, and Mum jumped up and headed back to the hob, her face bright red. Dad winked at me.

"So," he said again, "how are you feeling?"

I shrugged.

"We have to win today," I said. "We're a hundred and sixty points ahead of the Bats; that's easily overturned. If we slip up today and lose too many of those points, we'll make things harder for ourselves next Friday."

"Who are the Bats playing today?"

"The Harpies," Mum chipped in, as she dished up.

"And how have they been this season?" Dad asked her.

As a reporter on the entire Quidditch League, Mum had a responsibility to keep an eye on every team's fortunes. She concentrated on the Falcons more than the other teams, due to the family links, but gave almost as much attention to her old team.

"Mixed fortunes," she said. "They played really well against the Tornados, but completely capitulated against the Pride and the Kestrels. They're looking at a mid-table finish. Their team for today isn't a very strong one because they have to rest a lot of their girls."

I pulled a face at the thought that the Bats would have an easy match.

"The Bats are resting players too, aren't they?" Dad asked.

"The Lynches aren't playing," she informed us.

"They're still a good team even without the Lynches, though," I said darkly, accepting my breakfast plate from Mum.

"But you can't affect their game," Dad reminded me. "You just need to go out there and play like we know you can, and get a good win. Worry about the Bats permutations tomorrow."

"I know," I sighed. "But the Kestrels are a good team too."

"Are they resting anyone?"

"I think they're resting Connolly," I said, "which helps us Chasers a bit given that we're resting Ryan. And they're resting O'Hare as well, which seems a bit silly – why rest your Chaser _and_ your Keeper in the same match? Keily's playing though. I guess they don't want to put out a weak Seeker against Klaus, especially if they have a weakened Chaser attack."

"I don't think you have any need to worry," Dad said confidently, tucking into his bacon. "You'll be great, you always are."

On another day, the remark would have been properly taken in and processed for its significance. But today I was so nervous that even my father's unwavering confidence wasn't enough to soothe me.

Truth be told, I wasn't nervous about having to beat the Kestrels, per se. I was petrified about playing alongside Della and Roxanne.

We had no idea how well we'd work together. I was used to the dynamics that Ryan, Della and I had. Ryan was the biggest, bulkiest and fastest at pure flying; Della was the smallest and the sneakiest; and I came somewhere in between, and had the fastest pass. We were so used to playing in accordance with those attributes that I barely had to _think_ any more when I played alongside them; that was how easy it had become for us.

Of course, Della and Roxanne had had the three matches I'd not played to get used to playing alongside each other. Roxanne was smaller and slighter than Della, whose role within the trio had changed slightly as a result of this. Some manoeuvres involved us hiding the smallest Chaser; now that was Roxanne, and Della had to perform a completely different role than the one she was used to. Not that any of us doubted her; she was, after all, a fine international player.

I was doubting myself, though. Today, _I_ was the biggest, strongest player, so I'd have to do the things Ryan normally did, like blocking the opposition at the start of the match to ensure Della got away with the Quaffle. I'd be marked by the Kestrels' biggest player. Basically, I'd have to adopt a role I wasn't used to. I may have played alongside Brigid and Roxanne at school for two years, but at school, we'd put hardly any thought into how a trio worked together. That was far too in-depth for a bunch of school kids to come up with; we just deployed the basic manoeuvres, like the Parkin's Pincer. This would be totally different from anything I'd ever done before.

I hadn't played a Quidditch match in Falcons colours without Ryan on my shoulder. _That_ was what scared me the most.

"You'll be fine," he reassured me in the changing rooms before the match, clapping my shoulder.

But I was still nervous, and clearly he could see that.

"You know," he said quietly, "you're going to leave me far behind you, one of these days. Both me _and_ Della. You're going to have to get used to not having us around."

I laughed slightly.

"Don't be ridiculous-"

"I'm not," he said, so sincerely I couldn't possibly _not_ believe him. "You'll be _fine_, Junior. I know you will."

Knowing that I had the support of my teammate and mentor of nine years reassured me in a way my parents' comments hadn't. I knew they genuinely believed in me, but all the same they were saying those things to their son. Ryan was talking to a fellow teammate, which was an entirely different situation. A parent's duty was to reassure their kids no matter what, whereas teammates didn't sugar-coat their words. It didn't help things. Every word I'd said to Jake was genuine – and everything Ryan said to me was just as bona fide. And when the time came to fly out to the pitch, I felt every bit as confident as Jake looked.

* * *

><p>Quidditch was an odd sport in many ways. One of the ways it was oddest was in its scoring. With most sports, the final score generally told a story about how the teams compared, but with Quidditch, the scores almost always told the <em>opposite<em> story.

If one team beat another by about a hundred and fifty points or so, it in fact meant it had been a close match, with the Chasers evenly matched and only the Snitch capture marking the difference between them. On the other hand, if the scores were close it meant that one Chaser unit had likely outshone the other, but the Snitch capture had gone the opposite way. The only score line that told the honest truth was if one team beat the other by more than two hundred points; that really did mean that the winning team had given the losing team an utter trouncing.

We trounced the Kestrels.

They'd made a bad move in resting Shane Connolly _and_ Aiden O'Hare in the same match. Just as I'd predicted, any move which weakened a Chaser unit should be balanced with the strongest possible Keeper, and vice versa; weakening both at the same time was fatal. They'd clearly hoped Brianna Keily would be able to catch the Snitch before they fell too far behind.

But they'd underestimated Klaus. He'd actually seen the Snitch a couple of times early on in the match, and had done the exact _opposite_ of what Sinead had ordered him to do. Instead of securing a catch, and a win for us, he'd led Brianna off in the opposite direction, allowing us Chasers to make hay.

And make hay we did.

The biggest success story of this match wasn't the performance of us Chasers. In fact, because we weren't used to playing alongside each other we'd made some stupid mistakes; luckily Della and Alfie both had the experience and nous to save those situations. Alfie had been absolutely flawless in front of the hoops.

But the stand out performance belonged to Jake. His confidence and enthusiasm had been infectious, and he'd made some seriously good hits, including one which took their Keeper out for a fair few minutes – that had been the moment which really allowed us to pull ahead on the scorecard. The summary would gift those goals to me, Roxanne and Della, but in truth they all belonged to Jake.

Given the sheer margin of our victory, we were all feeling quietly confident that we'd done enough to secure the League, regardless of next Friday's match against the Bats. Unfortunately, Sinead soon burst this bubble with the news that the Bats, too, had thumped their opposition. This meant that instead of us extending our lead, they'd actually eaten into it.

We led them by eighty points. Next Friday's match had everything riding on it; the result would determine who won this year's League.

But I wasn't worrying about that right now. Now I'd gotten the Kestrels match out of the way, there was only one thing on my mind.

Carlotta.

* * *

><p>I stopped by at the Tav first, the next morning. I wasn't sure if she'd be back at work yet, but it was worth a look given that her workplace was only round the corner from me. It proved fruitful; the girl behind the till, the same one I'd talked to a week before, turned to the kitchen door as soon as she saw me and called for Carlotta.<p>

She emerged from the kitchens in her chef whites, and came to an abrupt halt when she saw me. She looked both confused and hopeful.

"James," she said.

"Can you take your half hour break yet?" I asked her.

I wasn't sure what her answer would have been if the other girl hadn't all but forced her out of her chef's hat and out from behind the counter.

"I'll take that as a yes," I said with a slight smile. "Can we talk?"

"I guess so," she said, her voice and facial expression both giving little away.

I led her out of the Tav, and up the road towards the public park.

"Are you feeling better?" I asked, shoving my hands in my pockets – my arms felt heavy hanging by my sides.

"A little," she replied. "The doc gave me some stronger stuff, so we'll have to see how long _that_ lasts."

I winced at the bitter edge to her voice.

"Why didn't you tell me you read my Aunt's research?" I asked her curiously.

"You know about that?" She looked awkward.

"She told me. I went to see her the other day. She said you'd shown an interest in it, and that this explained why..."

There was a slight pause, before she spoke – and her response wasn't what I'd expected.

"I didn't want you to think I was _using_ you."

I frowned.

"Why would I think _that_?"

"Oh, don't be daft. You can't mean to say the thought hasn't even crossed your mind..."

"_What_ thought?"

She gave me a peculiar look, as we reached the park.

"I don't know whether you're just naive or whether you just only see the best of a situation..." she mused. "I just ... I didn't think it _looked_ good, you know? Because ... when I first found out about magic, I freaked. But then when you started explaining it to me, it seemed less daunting ... and I was genuinely interested, I _was_. But _then_ the thought crossed my mind, maybe you guys would know of something that could help me. And so I got your Aunt's notes, and I read them all. Every last roll of parchment. You have no idea how hard it was to hide it all from Flick – what on earth would she have made of _parchment_? And, of course, I didn't find anything, because there _was_ nothing to find. You're all as stumped as we are. That was probably when I first consciously thought I should back out ... and I was worried you'd think I was only hanging around because of the possibility of a cure, and that once I'd learned there wasn't one I didn't have a reason to stay. It was the _opposite_; I just _c__ouldn't_ stay if I had something that couldn't be cured..." She trailed off.

"I'm sorry," I said sincerely. "Honestly, if there was anything I could do, then I would-"

"Don't be silly," she said with a faint smile. "It's hardly your fault. It's _nobody's_ fault. It's just the way things are."

"So why punish yourself for it?" I asked her.

She gave me another bemused look.

"_Punishing_ myself? How am I punishing myself?"

"Because you won't let yourself live. You won't let yourself be happy, won't let other people make you happy-"

"I'm not having this conversation again, James," she said flatly.

"Well, you're going to have to, because I'm not going to give up until you change your mind," I insisted. "Look, if the problem is that you're worried I'm going to do a runner, then I promise you, I won't-"

"That's not the issue."

"Then what _is_?"

"The issue is that you're loyal to a fault. I _believe_ you when you say you'll stay. And _that's_ the problem. I won't let you throw your life away like that-"

I came to a halt by the lake in the park, and took her arm, spinning her round to face me.

"Why do you think it has to come down to that?" I demanded. "Why are you so adamant that your personal life's at a dead end, all because of an illness?"

She wrenched her arm away from me, looking furious all of a sudden.

"It's not at a dead end! I'm doing this for _you_, because you deserve better! Just stop trying to talk about something you don't understand-"

I stepped forwards and took her face in my hands, the pads of my thumbs lightly stroking her cheeks. She closed her eyes at the touch.

"Then _help_ me understand," I said quietly. "Let me in, let me _help_. I assure you, I know exactly what I do and don't deserve in life, and if I don't deserve you then it's because _you_ deserve better, not me. And I'm not going to walk away just because you tell me to. You can say no all you like, but I'm not going to leave you alone until you give in."

"I'll get a restraining order," she said with a slight smile, her eyes flickering open.

I smirked back at her.

"I'd like to see the Muggle courts trying to enforce an order on someone who doesn't exist in their jurisdiction."

She let out an aggravated sigh.

"You're so bloody stubborn..."

"You _have_ met my mother, right?" I said teasingly. "She fought tooth and nail for Dad, and didn't stop until they were married. Now, I'm not saying I'm about to get down on one knee or anything-"

"I should think not," she cut in lightly.

"-but I'm not going to walk away just because you've told me to, and I'm certainly not going to believe my life could possibly be changed for the worse because of you. I'm not trying to say that things will be easy – I've at least learned _some_ things since I came to see you last time – but it's nothing that I can't deal with. I _promise_ you that."

She looked utterly torn.

"Just..." she began slowly, "just promise _me_ that if I begin to get in the way of your career, you won't throw it away or do something else stupid so as to look after me-"

"No chance of me promising that one," I said brightly. "I'll be the one to decide what comes first out of my job and you, thank you."

"But ... but you _love_ Quidditch-"

"I do," I agreed. "But I also enjoy spending time with you – when you're not trying to _stop_ me from doing so, that is. And when – _if_ – I ever have to make that decision, then I'll make it on my own terms, and _not_ because I made some stupid promise I made today here by the lake to appease you."

"I hate you," she muttered.

"I don't think you do," I replied, and then I kissed her.

She didn't respond straight away, but after a moment she started kissing me back, so when I finally pulled away I had a huge grin on my face.

"I'm going to take that to mean that you give in," I said.

She still seemed to be in two minds, but I could tell that she was close to giving in.

"We're not agreeing all of this on your terms-" she began.

"I didn't make any terms; I just refused to agree to yours."

She tried to look angry, but seemed unable to prevent a smile from spreading across her face.

"Just promise me that if it gets too much for you, you'll say something and not just suffer in silence..." she said.

"I will," I said, "but it won't." I kissed her again, then glanced at my watch. "We'd better head back, or you'll overrun."

"Yeah, I guess. " She pulled a slight face.

I smirked, slinging an arm round her shoulders and leading her out of the park.

"I know, I know, you can't bring yourself to leave my side," I said cheekily. "Wouldn't it be convenient if I lived just round the corner from your workplace so you could come to see me when you finish later?"

"Is that a thinly veiled invitation?"

"It's whatever you want it to be."

"I might pop round once I'm done, unless I have any better offers."

"Dream on, darling, dream on. Any chance of you getting me lunch on the house?"

Her response was loud, accompanied by vivid hand gestures, and definitely not appropriate in a public setting.

"I'll take that as a yes, then," I said with a grin.

Right now, I was on cloud nine.


	45. forty-five

Such was my paranoia that when I awoke on Monday morning to an otherwise empty bed, I immediately thought Carlotta had gotten cold feet already and scarpered. Then I realised her side of the bed was still warm – and _then_ the smell from the kitchen hit my nostrils, and I almost laughed as I realised I really shouldn't have expected her to be anywhere else.

"Morning," she said brightly as I entered the kitchen and slumped into one of the chairs at the table. "I couldn't sleep, and I thought you could do with a big breakfast given the week you've got ahead of you."

She was referring, of course, to the build up to the Bats match on Friday. She'd come to mine as soon as her shift had finished yesterday and had wasted no time in asking for a detailed account of all the matches she'd missed, even so far as wanting play-by-plays. A part of me had gotten a bit impatient and would have preferred things to have been more bedroom-orientated, but I could hardly fault her genuine enthusiasm for my sport.

Besides, it wasn't as though we hadn't made it to the bedroom in the end.

She'd seemed genuinely remorseful for the time I'd spent out of the team and in the Hog's Head. I'd tried to insist the fault wasn't hers but mine, but the fact remained that her walk-out had been the catalyst for my total melt-down, and so in her eyes she was partly responsible for my suspension from the England squad.

Her concern would have been touching, if it didn't make _me_ feel guilty in turn. It made me more determined to just get back out there and _play_, to do my job the best I possibly could. I couldn't change what had happened, but I could do my best to ensure it didn't harm my long-term career prospects. And with that, hopefully I could ease Carlotta's guilt.

But I couldn't play if I wasn't in the team.

I got to the training ground early, despite the fact that I was leaving a beautiful woman in my flat. It was as though I thought showing up early to the first session of the week would somehow increase my prospects of being picked. I wasn't the first there; Sinead, Alfie, Keira, Julia, Della and the Bagmans were already deep in conversation in the changing room. I halted in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt their conversation, especially if it were a private one, but as soon as she realised I was there, Sinead beckoned me in.

"Morning, James," she said. "How're you feeling?"

"Good," I said, knowing she was referring to both my physical and mental state following the two matches I'd played. "But they were only short matches. I felt a bit stiff yesterday morning from being the battering ram à la Murph against the Kestrels, but that'll ease up once I'm up on the broom again."

She nodded, looking satisfied.

"You did a good job at the weekend, I was very impressed."

My heart leapt into my mouth at her praise. Surely this meant my performance had increased my chances of making the final line-up of the season.

I tried not to let this elation show, and simply gave her a brief, grateful smile.

"It was weird, playing without Ryan. It was a good way to challenge myself, though."

She nodded in agreement.

"You'll be playing many more games without him in the future; you need to become accustomed to not having him on your shoulder at all times."

I wasn't sure what to make of that remark. Surely, if Ryan was as adamant as I was about remaining a Falcon for as long as possible, then we'd more likely than not continue playing alongside one another? Unless Roxanne's recent performances meant the fight for a Chaser spot truly had become a four-way battle– but then I couldn't imagine _Ryan_ being rested for her to play. The only other situation where we wouldn't be playing together would be at international level, and I couldn't see myself getting another chance for England until at least this time next year, when the first round of qualifying matches for the next World Cup would be played.

I said nothing, however, merely nodding as I took a seat next to Della.

"We were just trying to work out how best to play on Friday," Sinead continued. "Should we go for a conservative approach, and try to protect our lead, or should we go for a more attacking approach and risk letting them in?"

Our lead was a delicate one. Eighty points might seem like a lot, but it was still less than a Snitch capture. One mistake from Stefan, who would be playing Seeker, and the game would be gone.

"The Lynches will go after Stef." Cleo's thoughts mirrored mine. "Cato and I will have to guard him-"

"But we can't risk taking our eyes off the Chasers," Cato finished. "So perhaps one of us will have to guard Stefan, and one of us the Chasers-"

"But then we could both be flying all over the pitch unnecessarily. Tiring ourselves out would play right into the Lynches' hands. Maybe we should take one half of the pitch each-"

"No, that won't work; we'll get confused over who should be guarding who – and besides, they could all end up in the same half. Shadowing Stefan sounds like the best plan-"

"But you _know_ that Seekers hate being guarded like that; they can't do their job properly! We could take a Bludger each, but I don't like that idea; we're best when we play _together_. On our own, we're just two individuals with Beater Bats. I don't think we can go out of our way to nullify the Lynches; we'll just weaken ourselves and play into their hands. We'll have to play based on how _we_ want to play."

They turned to Julia and Della and said in unison, "What do you want us to do?"

It was Julia and Della's turn to consult each other.

"We're not sure yet," Julia said. "Initially we thought we'd go for a strength-orientated game, as their Chasers are all quite small, but their main focus is on their intricacy and they could fly circles around us if we go for the simple approach. We could opt for a more complex set of plays ourselves, but the moment the Lynches send the Bludgers at us it'll break our whole play up and we'll be completely disorganised. Our other option – and the one I think we should go for – is speed. Speed of pass. Ramp things up a notch or three. Their Chasers wouldn't be able to keep up."

My ears pricked up. In a game of strength and brute force, Ryan was key. An intricate game was Della and Roxanne's forte. But _speed _... that was _my_ number one attribute. Ryan and Roxanne were faster in the air, but when it came to passing the Quaffle, nobody was as quick as me. If Julia and Della chose that tactic ... I'd surely be in the team.

"The trouble with that," Cleo chipped in, and my heart sank, "is that from a Beater's point of view that play can be relatively easy to screw up as well. If the pace drops at all, you give the Lynches a chance to knock the Quaffle out of your hands. You have to keep the pace up no matter what; the only time you can afford to let it slow up is with a deliberate hesitation aimed to confuse the opposition. The moment you lose focus, their Chasers and Beaters will be on top of you straight away to capitalise. It's the sort of tactic that you can afford to throw in at times, but you can't base your whole game on it, not against the Lynches at any rate."

"We'll have to throw a few tricks and flicks in," Della chipped in. "Reckon that will catch them out?"

"Only for so long," Cato said. "They'll get wise to your game if you're too repetitive."

"So ideally we want to go for a mix of everything?" Della suggested.

"Ideally, yes. But if you do, then we won't know what you're doing and we'll be less effective at protecting you from the Bludgers."

"But the Lynches will be less effective as well, surely?" Julia pointed out. "And that'll mean less need for protection."

"We can dodge a couple of Bludgers here and there," Della contributed.

I was absolutely enraptured by the conversation. Obviously, the longer I'd been with the Falcons the more involved I'd become in tactical discussions. At the beginning my role had been very much dictated to me – the decision based on my strengths, but decided by the more experienced Chaser brains such as Julia and Della. As time had passed, I'd gained more of a say, but I'd never sat in on these conversations at the beginning of a game week, when Chasers, Keepers and Beaters alike all sat together to discuss how they'd mesh their tactics to make our match-day team the singular unit it was.

Seekers were rarely needed this early on in the proceedings; most of them thought tactics overcomplicated things, and would rather keep out of the way of the match to do their own thing. In fact, many Seekers considered the Quaffle play an entirely separate match to their own search for the Snitch. In some ways they were right, given the number of matches decided by the capture of the Snitch, but when points differences came into play it wasn't quite so easy to separate the two disciplines completely. In this match, for example, both Seekers would have to keep half an eye on the scoreboard to make sure they didn't inadvertently hand the Cup to the other team.

And while it was all very well for Seekers to consider themselves separate from the game taking place around them, the opposition Beaters thought them fair game, so our Seekers relied on Cato and Cleo for protection, no matter how much they resented it.

But those were the only two links between a Seeker's play and the rest of his team's, so Stefan's input wasn't needed this early on in proceedings. He knew we had an eighty point advantage, and that gave him almost free rein to catch the Snitch – even if the Bats were twenty two goals ahead of us on the day, he could still catch the Snitch and win the Cup for us. His job was therefore as simple as it could possibly be. The only way they'd pull that far ahead would be if the Lynches took out Alfie or a couple of our Chasers. As most Seekers preferred not to be interfered with, Cato and Cleo already knew the best way to protect him from the Bludgers was from afar. With all this established, there was little he needed to contribute.

But the other three cogs were much more intertwined with one another, and a lack of understanding across the board would pull the whole game apart. Beaters at the highest level were far more concerned with tactics than people perceived; it was more skilled a discipline than simply being able to hit a ball of iron, and strength and hand-eye coordination alone weren't enough to make it as a successful professional Beater. They needed to know how their Chasers would play, because they'd need to adapt their own tactics to fit. It wasn't a one-way thing; Beaters, like Chasers, had to consider their opposite numbers and plan their play accordingly, which in turn, required cooperation from the Chasers.

Alfie was less concerned with the Beaters. As he stayed more-or-less in the same spot all game, it was easy for Cato and Cleo to make sure he didn't get hit. But he _did_ need to know how the Chasers wanted to play, in order to recognise any risk of the Bats stealing possession from us. A secondary advantage of the Chasers' tactics was knowing which Chaser to pass the Quaffle to after he made a save. And most defensive plays involved him, some at great length, so he was just as important to these early conversations.

"We need to nullify them," Julia continued. "We won't get anywhere otherwise."

"Surely," I said nervously – they all turned to look at me, and I suppressed a flinch – "surely we should just play our own game? If we get too caught up in counteracting _them_, and adopt plays we're not good at, doesn't it weaken us?"

"It does and it doesn't," Julia said. "Obviously on the surface it's the best option – because you're right, we don't want to lessen the threat _we_ pose to _them_. But at the same time, we can't completely disregard what _they_ want to do.

"It's an awkward position that we find ourselves in. We may have a points advantage, but they can still win the game and the title for themselves by catching the Snitch early, so their Chasers aren't going to be going for an all-out attack strategy. If we were more than one-fifty clear, we could start off on the defensive, because they'd _have_ to score goals if they were to have a chance of winning the Cup. As it stands, that Snitch capture will be the decider unless we're twenty three goals behind or eight ahead. _That's_ where we have the advantage, because our buffer is stronger than theirs. We have more chance of putting the game out of their reach than they do of putting it out of ours. But eight goals is a lot against a team like the Bats."

"But we can afford to throw all our eggs into one basket, and go all out for those eight goals," Della chipped in. "We might lose possession, as is the risk with that kind of play, but if we can afford to lose by seventy and still win the Cup, it's a risk we can afford to take."

She was right, of course; we didn't need to _win_ this match. Thanks to our eighty point buffer, the Bats would have to beat us by ninety points or more to overtake us in the table. A loss of seventy points or less, a draw or a win would all do us fine.

If we lost by exactly eighty points, things would get a little messier. This would leave us equal on points at the top of the table, and the Bats would take the title by virtue of more wins – we both had eleven as things stood. The Tornados were in third, but the gap between us and them was insurmountable, so they'd no chance of catching either of us.

But I didn't want to end our Cup run on a loss. I wanted us to win it unbeaten. Moreover, it would feel like a hollow title win if the team sitting below us in the table _had_ won all of their matches, and had simply fallen short on points difference. I knew that the points difference was the biggest element of Quidditch League scoring, but to me the actual win felt almost as important. Risk-taking was all very well and good, but I didn't want us to risk losing the match.

Della's proposal also worried Alfie, but for a slightly different reason.

"It's unlikely we'd concede a two-hundred-and-twenty point lead by trying to get an eighty point one," he admitted. "But all the same, where do we draw the line? What happens if we fall behind by fifty? A hundred? One-fifty? Where do we turn around and say that the attacking approach isn't working and we need to adopt a different one? And by that point we'll have given _them_ confidence they can pull out on us. And the further they eat into our points difference, the more pressure it puts on Stef to make the capture. Is that fair on him?"

"In fairness to him, he was the one who chose the position with the most immediate pressure attached to it," Della said, but she did seem to agree with his point all the same. "Okay. So we'll put a question mark against the all-out attack approach. Let's look on the flip side. _They'll_ want to score goals. They won't need to, straight out, but they'll want to try to eat into our advantage."

"Actually, wouldn't they be trying to stop _you_ from scoring, primarily?" Keira suggested. "They'll know that once they're eighty points behind, they're out of it. They'll know that we know that. _I_ think they'll go on the defensive, try to stop us scoring, and rely on their Seeker to make the capture."

"So their Seeker's the key," Julia concluded.

Cato and Cleo looked at each other.

"Our concern is taking out their Seeker, then," Cleo said. "That sound good?"

"Flip side again," Alfie said. "What will the Lynches be looking to do?"

"Protect the Seeker," Cato said promptly. "And take out Stef."

"_And_ take you out, Alf," Della added. "With no Keeper in the way, their Chasers have nothing between them and the hoops-"

"Except you Chasers," Cleo put in. "It would be hard for you three without a Keeper, but you're one of the best attacks in the League and they _know_ that. So long as all three of you were fighting fit, you'd be able to keep hold of the Quaffle long enough to stop them getting the two-twenty buffer they need."

"So they'd have to take one or more of us out too," Della said.

"But you can't pick a tactic that relies on taking out more than two players," Cato said. "It's far too fluky. Cleo and I would chance it against a weaker team, but we'd never try it against a top team, not as our main tactic. Especially if we have to protect one of our own as well."

"This is the Lynches we're talking about. Don't rule anything out," Keira said dryly.

"They might be more likely to _try_ it. Doesn't mean it's any more likely to _work_," Cleo said. "Point is, Cato and I can only go so far when it comes to protecting our own, and likewise _they_ can only go so far when it comes to attacking _us_. Goals aren't important, not at the start of the match. It's all about the _Snitch_. So, we'll keep the Bludgers away from Stef, and try to take out their kid."

"How about a left-field option?" I suggested as an idea came to me.

"I like left-field," Cleo said approvingly.

"I don't if it means more risk," Alfie said warily. "Go ahead, Jim."

"Kill off the threat at its core. Take one of the Lynches out."

Keira and Julia shared an approving look, and Cleo made a noise of excitement.

"With one Beater, they'd _have_ to protect their kid first and foremost. That would leave _us_ free to attack, without the worry of them countering and getting Stef first," Cato said.

"They wouldn't expect it either, because how often _are_ Beaters targeted?" Cleo added. "They'll be expecting their _Seeker_ to be the target, they won't be prepared for a personal attack."

"But there's a reason that people don't go for the Beaters," Keira pointed out. "You two may have bats, but so do they. More to the point, their primary instinct when a Bludger comes towards them is to hit it away. You'd have very few chances to do it. And once they cotton onto your plan, you're scuppered."

"I like a challenge." Cato shrugged.

"It'll be fun," Cleo agreed.

"If it distracts your attention from Stefan, they could take him out first," Alfie warned.

"I know he doesn't have a bat, but he's not a complete mug on a broom, you know. I'm sure he could dodge one or two Bludgers. In fact, he'd _love_ that challenge."

"But _then_ he's not looking for the Snitch!" Julia interjected.

"They won't _both_ be going for him," Cleo reasoned. "One of them will be sitting back, ready to defend against any of our attacks. They can't both go after Stefan, because they won't have control of both Bludgers long enough to disregard what _we_ want to do. If we get hold of a Bludger when neither of them are in a position to protect their team, they're at a disadvantage. So one of them will be holding back, and that means Stef will only have one Bludger going for him at once. That frees us up to go for a two-man attack. A good and strong Dopplebeater should do it-"

"No, we'd need subtlety more than strength," Cato objected. "It's their bats that give them immunity; once you hit one of them, they're hit as good and proper as any other player. It's getting past that bat that's the issue. We'd have to go for a Backbeat-"

"Less accuracy," Julia put in.

"You seen Cleo's accuracy rate with a Backbeat? Trust me, if anyone could do it, it's her," Cato reassured her.

"Alternatively we _go_ _for_ the back," Cleo said. "They don't have eyes in the back of their heads, they can't protect against a threat they can't see."

"Which would you go for?" Keira asked. "The one who's trying to attack, or the one who's sitting back protecting?"

"The one who attacks will be less aware of his surroundings," Cato said. "But he'll have the protector watching his back for him. Who'll be watching the protector's back? Nobody."

"The Keeper might, if the Quaffle's far enough away," Alfie chipped in. "But he wouldn't be able to stop the Bludger, so he'd have to rely on communication."

"But the protector will be in a better position to protect himself than the attacker will," Cleo added. "Swings and roundabouts. Let's make it personal. Which is the weaker one?"

Sinead, who'd said nothing up until this point, instead sitting back and letting her players talk things out, reached into her pocket.

"I know just who can help us with that." She pulled her phone out.

Minutes later, Ryan joined us.

"Any chance you can forget this before the World Cup?" he joked. "I'm not sure I should be sharing my country's secrets. You're right; they'll go for a split strategy. Feargus has a stronger hit, so he'll be going for Stefan. Eoin's one of the most observant Beaters in the game, so you'll have to be either very quick or very sneaky to catch him out. But he'll be watching the Bludgers. So long as he can see them both, it doesn't matter where you two are. If you're going to hit one of them, you'd have to do it where he can see you anyway."

"So we'd have to attack in plain sight of him," Cleo said.

"Not necessarily." Cato frowned. "If he's not _looking_ for us, he won't notice one of us behind him, out of his line of sight..."

"We'd have to be quick, though. He'd be following the pass back, then he'd turn and see the threat behind him-"

"Not if he was concerned with something in front of him."

"But that could only be a threat from the _other_ Bludger, and Feargus would surely have that one covered. No, we'd have to rely on speed. If we were close, the passes would be too short to give him enough time to turn and react."

"Alternatively, we go for Feargus. If we're close enough to _him_, and in possession of a Bludger, and he's in possession of the other, there's nothing Eoin can do but shout. So long as we're quick..."

"We could adapt a Pincer for you," Ryan suggested.

Della's eyes lit up.

"_Yes_, that would work! He wouldn't be able to see through three Chasers!"

"Three Chasers and a Keeper," Alfie added. "If you're neglecting your posts, I could neglect mine too."

"But wouldn't it be obvious if you all suddenly headed for Eoin?" Julia suggested.

"We'd have to do it right at the start, before we're in position," Della reasoned. "We block Eoin's view, and let you guys take Feargus out."

"You'd have only one chance," Keira said. "You'd have to get in with one hefty blow if you're going to take him out of the match completely."

"I could do that," Cato said. "He'll be preoccupied with Stefan, he won't see me coming. Hard blow into the small of his back, and he's out for the match."

Julia winced.

"It all seems a bit barbaric to me," she said. "Couldn't we go for something with a bit more gamesmanship?"

"Gamesmanship doesn't win cups," Cleo said ruthlessly.

"Besides," Alfie added, "it's the Lynches. You think they play by the rules?"

The captain's approval seemed to win Julia over.

"Well, if it's for the Cup..."

"Needs must," Sinead agreed, effectively rubberstamping the tactic.

"So, the match has just started, and we've successfully taken out Feargus. What next?" Della said.

"Cato and I target their Seeker," Cleo said. "It'll leave you guys unguarded, but Eoin will be trying to protect their kid, so you should be okay. You'd be free to play to whatever plan you think best."

"All-out attack?" Della suggested again.

Julia sighed, but she was smiling all the same.

"I suppose you could, with their Beater down and a Seeker under threat."

"Excellent! And what if we _don't_ take out Feargus?"

"We could keep trying." Cato indicated himself and Cleo. "But we'd have to do it without your help, and I'm not sure how long it'd be before they get wise to it and adapt – or, worse, steal the idea for themselves."

"That wouldn't do," Julia murmured.

"We'd need a back-up plan," Della said. "All-out attack's a no-no, I guess?"

"Possession's the key," Alfie said. "You guys don't need to be scoring, but if you have the Quaffle it means they _can't_ score."

"But if the Seeker match-up stays even, surely we _do_ need to score? If we just sit back and bide our time, we'll risk losing the Cup!"

"Play to win," Sinead spoke up. "Play to win the match, but for Merlin's sake, whatever you do, don't take any risks."

And with that, the meeting came to an end. I was glad I wasn't usually a part of them; I was exhausted. And it was only just ten o'clock.

* * *

><p>Carlotta was still at mine when I got back that evening. In fact, I suspected she hadn't moved from her spot in front of the hob all day.<p>

"How was training?" she asked.

"Exhausting." I fell into one of the chairs round the table.

"Do you want dinner?"

"Would I say no?"

"I can't imagine you ever turning down food," she conceded. "You'll have to bear with me on this; I came across a pumpkin and I've been experimenting a bit with it."

"Haven't you cooked with pumpkins before?" I asked in surprise.

"Not really. We only have them around at Halloween, and even then all we ever did was make soup with what was left over after we'd carved them. You guys always seem to be cooking with them, though."

"Pretty much. Nana Weasley's always making pumpkin pies, and Kreacher used to make all sorts of pumpkin dishes for us when we were little."

"Kreacher?"

"Dad's house elf."

"What are _they_?"

"Exactly what they sound like. Elves that have to do a human's bidding. Aunt Hermione hates the way they're forced to obey, and I have to admit I don't like to see people abuse them either. Dad's very strict about what we can and can't ask Kreacher to do." I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly, remembering how I'd abused my ability to give him orders only last month.

"You have so many wonderful creatures in your world," she mused. "Speaking of which, I fed Cordelia earlier. I figured you wouldn't have fed her in a while."

"Cordelia is the _last_ thing I'd consider a wonderful creature," I said. "But you're right, I haven't fed her in a few days – unless you count the free Muggle newspaper that was stuffed through my door last week?"

"No, I don't count that," she said dryly. "Oh, Brigid popped round earlier."

I frowned. "What for?"

"She brought an envelope for you. She didn't say what it was, just that it was something you'd asked for. It's on the table in the living room." She set a plate down in front of me, containing some sort of pasta dish, and sat down opposite me with her own. "She told me about the argument she had with Freddie, as well," she continued.

Having already started eating, I waited until my mouth was empty before speaking.

"What did she say?"

"A lot, but the essence of it was that she understands his point of view but it doesn't make his actions okay. But it got me thinking, and I was wondering..." She hesitated.

"Wondering what?" I prompted.

"Well, you told me the bare facts about this Voldemort guy. I've pieced a bit more together from that newspaper article, but I still don't know that much about it. So, could you tell me? The full story?"

I chewed slowly on my food for a moment before replying.

"There are lots of books about it..."

"But they'll only tell me so much. You could tell me ... well, _everything_..."

But I'd never done that before. I'd never talked to _anyone_ about anything to do with the wars and my parents' past. In History of Magic lessons I'd sat at the back of the classroom and hoped nobody would pay me the slightest bit of attention. Whenever anyone had asked me a question about the wars, I'd either ignored or dismissed it in the politest way possible, depending on which response I thought it deserved. It was the one topic Brigid had always know not to raise and it had even been off-limits with Ingrid.

And now, Carlotta wanted the whole story.

She was right; the books _would_ only tell her so much. The published version of Voldemort's reign was an abridged one. While Dad, Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione acknowledged the truths of the past had to be revealed if we were to learn from and avoid repeating them, they'd decided some elements of the story were best kept secret. They'd agreed nobody needed to know about the three Hallows, or the prophecy that had triggered Voldemort's direct attack on my grandparents.

More difficult had been the decision not to publicise the facts of Voldemort's Horcruxes. Aunt Hermione had felt that people needed to know what they were, but Uncle Ron had argued few people would even know what they were, thanks to Dumbledore's removal of all references to them from the Hogwarts library, and that it was best kept that way so as not to give any other unsavoury characters nasty ideas. Dad had initially been on Aunt Hermione's side as he was firmly against censoring history, but he'd eventually come to agree it was best not to educate the masses about soul-splitting.

There were also other, smaller details which hadn't been published, not deliberately, but because they'd been overlooked when Dad had been telling the story. Uncle Percy's had initially been one of these details, but unfortunately other people had revealed that side story.

Few people knew the whole, unabridged story, and most of those who did went by the name Weasley. Albus, Lily and I also knew everything, of course, as did Teddy. I wasn't sure how much my cousins' friends or Dominique's husband knew, but I did know Maddie and Kit knew everything – as they'd started off knowing nothing, Lily had considered it easiest to just tell them the whole story. Brigid also knew everything; I suspected Freddie had told her when we were at school. Aside from that, the only others who knew about the prophecy, the Hallows, the Horcruxes and all the other nitty-gritty details were Kingsley Shacklebolt, Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout and Slughorn, Hagrid, the Longbottoms and the Lovegoods.

I _could_ tell Carlotta the official version. But would that be fair? I'd already denied her the truth twice; if I held back now, she'd be _really_ unhappy if she ever found out.

No. She needed to know the full truth.

I'd nearly cleared my plate while thinking about this, but Carlotta seemed to have realised I'd been lost in thought and not just ignoring her question.

I mopped up the sauce on my plate with the last piece of pumpkin, then set my plate to one side.

"The wizard who styled himself Lord Voldemort," I began, "was born Tom Marvolo Riddle, to a witch who died in childbirth. His father was a Muggle, who had been bewitched by a Love Potion..."

* * *

><p>I only opened the envelope Brigid had left for me once Carlotta left later that night. I knew exactly what it was, and I'd wanted to avoid her questions.<p>

I'd tell her in time. I knew better than to keep things from her – besides, she'd need to know by Friday anyway. But I'd told her enough for one evening.

I grabbed some parchment, a quill and an inkpot from a kitchen drawer, and wrote my letter at the table. Then, I folded it around the tickets and sealed it with my wand. I'd deliver it by hand in the morning.

_Ingrid and Mark,_

_Please find enclosed two tickets for the Falcons v Bats match on Friday. Hopefully you'll get to watch me play. If not then I'm sure we can enjoy the match together in the stands._

_Hope to see you there._

_Yours,_

_James Potter_


	46. forty-six

The team for the Bats match was announced on Tuesday, a day earlier than normal because the match itself was a day earlier than normal. This was no small relief for me, given that I'd still no idea whether I'd be playing or not. The match tactics hadn't really given me any hints about the line-up, because the Chasers didn't really _have_ any tactics for this match. All our unit could do was play a natural game; we couldn't afford to take any risks. And that meant Roxanne surely had as much chance of making the team as I did.

Every other position was settled. Alfie would, of course, captain from the hoops, and Sinead had already told me Della and Ryan would both be playing this match. Our team plans for the last two fixtures had been based on needing them both to play this one. Cato, Cleo and Stefan also knew they were playing. The only position that wasn't a certainty was the third Chaser spot. My spot.

Except I didn't think I could call it my spot any more.

I couldn't bear the thought of not playing. This was the kind of match all Quidditch players lived for. Yes, there was a lot of pressure attached to it, but that was what made these fixtures so special. We _thrived_ on the pressure, we _loved_ having something to play for. At the Falcons, we hadn't assumed this would be the title decider – the season may have been halved but there were still a lot of good sides, and it was never safe to assume anything in this sport – but it'd always promised to be a good match, and by the time we were half way through the season, we could see from the way the table was shaping up that it was likely to have a huge effect on the overall table.

But even without all that, it was still a big match. We could be playing for sixth and seventh, and the match would still be just as intense.

This was the Falmouth Falcons against the Ballycastle Bats. This was as big as it got.

The day absolutely dragged on, as I counted down the hours until Sinead finally put me out of my misery. The only question was whether it would be replaced by ecstasy or disappointment. I wasn't even consciously hoping she'd tell me I was in the team. No, my main hope was that she wouldn't be telling me I _wasn't_ in the team. Because I didn't think I could bear to hear that.

It was with some trepidation that I filed into the changing rooms behind Ryan at the end of the day to change and freshen up – and to hear the team news. I tried to avoid eye contact with Roxanne. More than ever, I felt terrible for inadvertently hoping my cousin _didn't_ get what she wanted – because if she did, it would be at my expense.

"Most of you know whether you're playing or not," Sinead said once we'd all sat down on the benches. "Which makes this announcement a bit anti-climactic, to be honest."

I was glad _she_ thought that.

"So. Keeper is Alf, Seeker is Stef, Beaters are Cato and Cleo. And the Chasers are Della, Ryan and James."

Wait – _what_?

She was still talking, but the words weren't reaching my brain. I was dumbstruck. I was playing.

I was _playing_.

Against the Bats.

For the Cup.

Holy shit.

* * *

><p>"You'd better make sure you don't let the family down on Friday, Jim," Roxanne said cheerily.<p>

"I'll do my best," I reassured her. "I'm sorry you're not playing, though."

"Don't be daft; of course I wasn't going to be picked for this one. You know that."

I looked at her oddly.

"What do you mean? You had every chance of being picked, after my behaviour and your performances."

She laughed. She actually _laughed_.

"James, you can't have honestly thought there was a chance Sinead wouldn't pick you? You're a first team player, and if ever a match needed first team players, it's this one."

I shook my head. "There's no way she was always planning to play me! That's far too risky."

She shrugged.

"Suit yourself. I guess we'll never know what was going through her head, which is probably best for both of us."

I nodded in agreement. If we were both left assuming that the other had been favoured, it would bring the best out of both of us. The more mystery Sinead could create around her ultimate first team line-up, the better.

"Anyway, this wasn't what I wanted to talk to you about," she continued. She sat back in her seat, absent-mindedly scratching Cordelia behind the spot where I thought one of her ears was. "I couldn't help but notice things have seemed a little tense between Freddie and Brigid of late."

"You could say that," I said lightly.

"What did he do this time?"

"What makes you think it was him?"

"Do you really need to ask that?"

I sighed.

"He..." I paused, not wanting to unintentionally insult Roxanne. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

She shrugged.

"Flesh and blood, mate, flesh and blood. Go ahead."

"Do you ... do you feel as though your parents' marriage ... _affects_ you, in any way?"

Her face clouded slightly.

"So that's what this is about, is it?"

"Is ... is that a yes? Or a no?"

It was her turn to sigh.

"I love my parents, I really do. But ... they don't exactly make it _easy_ for us."

"In what sense?"

"Take Dad's birthday. We don't celebrate it. In fact, we barely _see_ him. Because to him, it's not _his_ birthday, it's Uncle Fred's. He just ... shuts himself away. And Mum's hardly any better. Nana Weasley used to take us off their hands when we were younger, you know. That was what I associated with Dad's birthday; a day out with Nana Weasley. Because our parents were too preoccupied with themselves to look after their kids."

Her tone of voice had turned bitter.

"And as for _Victoire's_ birthday..." She shook her head. "I mean, that's a difficult day for most people, I know that."

The second of May. Victory Day. A day of both celebration and remembrance. I supposed as the years and generations passed, it would become more of a celebratory holiday, but as it stood the events of that day and the years leading up to it were still too recent for the atmosphere to be any livelier than that of a morgue.

I knew lots of people thought it nice and symbolic that Victoire's birthday fell on the anniversary of Voldemort's defeat, but she hated it. It wasn't that she lacked respect for the past, far from it, but it upset her to see her relatives only half-heartedly taking part in her birthday celebrations.

Growing up, Victory Day had been an odd day in our household. Mum and Dad had never treated it as seriously as other branches of the family did. We recognised it by visiting Uncle Fred's grave and those of Teddy's parents, but Mum and Dad had never gotten openly upset or if they had, they'd made sure we didn't see it.

But that was all we ever did. For us, the rest of the day was well and truly Victoire's birthday. Before she'd left for Hogwarts, we'd always spent the day at Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur's house. While she was at Hogwarts we'd visit Hogsmeade. Nowadays, we visited her and Teddy.

We'd never missed a single celebration. Neither had Nana and Grandpa Weasley, or Uncle Percy and Aunt Audrey. Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione had missed a couple– and Uncle George and Aunt Angelina had missed more than they'd been to.

I thanked my lucky stars my parents were relatively normal. It wasn't something I'd given much thought before, but now that I did, I realised that my family home had never sat under a cloud of grief.

"It's one of the most miserable days of the year, for us," Roxanne said gloomily. "And it shouldn't be. I don't _want_ it to be. It's why I've stopped visiting Mum and Dad on that day. And it's not as though they mourn the day he was born and the day he died and they're fine the rest of the year; they're like that all year round, underneath. It takes the smallest of catalysts to set them off. One day, all will be fine; the next, Dad will have come across an old photo or something and he'll be out of action for the whole day. It's _awful_, Jim."

"I ... I hadn't realised it was that bad..."

"They don't help each other. In fact, I think they actually make it _worse_ for each other. I know Uncle Fred was Dad's _twin_, and so they were closest, but none of the rest of the family seem anywhere near as bad. Uncle Percy took it badly at first, by all accounts, having been right _there_ at the time he died, but from what I've heard Aunt Audrey helped him through it, when they first got together. And Uncle Ron took it badly too, but Aunt Hermione was there for _him_. And your dad had Teddy to take up his full attention, and your mum's always seemed emotionally healthy – not that it's bad to grieve, but there's a point at which it becomes _un_healthy, and Mum and Dad passed that long ago. And then Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur found the best medicine when they had Victoire.

"Mum and Dad needed that kind of emotional support, someone to lean on, but they've never had that because instead they wallowed in their grief together. I mean, how was my dad marrying his brother's former girlfriend _ever_ meant to be a good thing?" She shook her head. "I suppose that's why Uncle Charlie's never really healed from the war, either."

I frowned. "What do you mean? He was barely around!"

"Exactly," she said simply. "I think he feels guilty for that. Everyone else was risking their lives, while he stayed out of the firing line, and then his brother got killed. That's why he stays away, and only visits occasionally, or that's what Aunt Audrey says anyway. And you've got to wonder whether his relative solitude really helped that state of mind."

"Merlin, we're a messed up bunch," I sighed.

She shrugged again.

"Depends how much we let our parents' experiences mould us," she said. "I learned long ago that my parents dwell too much on the past. I won't deny that the thought of losing Freddie is ... well, it's _horrible_. But it's been nearly thirty years now, and everyone else has moved on to some extent. I mean, even Nana and Grandpa Weasley get by. And it must have been horrendous for them at the time. No parent should have to bury their own _child_ ... but I digress. Does my parents' marriage affect me? They both love me very much, I know that. And they do _try_ to be upbeat as much as possible. But they don't love each other. They're both far too concerned with a man who's been dead for twenty-eight years and who would prefer them to be living their lives to the full right now. It's not exactly the nicest atmosphere to grow up in."

"Would it stop you from getting involved in a relationship for fear that you'd mess it up somehow?"

"There's always the chance you'll mess up a relationship. That's life." Then comprehension dawned on her face. "Don't tell me _that's_ what's behind all this drama with Freddie and Brigid?"

"Seems so," I said gloomily. "He's worried he won't be able to love her, and he's finally _told_ her that, but I don't think he'll do anything, and she certainly won't any time soon."

"And why should she?" Roxanne agreed. "But if she's waiting for Freddie to come to his senses, then she'll be waiting for the rest of her life."

I winced.

"Isn't that a bit dramatic?"

"She's the only one who'd be able to change his mind," she reasoned. "And she'll know that. Obviously she's hurt right now, but in time she'll come to terms with it all. She's a sensible girl, she's got her senses all in order. She knows exactly who she is. And that's exactly Freddie's problem. He doesn't see himself as his own person, he doesn't _know_ who he is."

I cocked my head to one side curiously. This kind of character insight didn't quite seem right coming from Roxanne, even if it _was_ her brother we were talking about.

"Have you always known this?"

"Course not. I didn't have a clue there was even anything wrong until I noticed they'd stopped talking to each other. I knew he liked her and wasn't doing anything about it, but I figured that was just because of their bust up the other year. But now you've said what the issue is ... well, it explains a few things. I'll chat to him, see if I can help, but ... I don't know. What can I _say_? 'You're an idiot for letting our parents shape who you are'? It's ... well, it's understandable, isn't it? He may not be _right_, but he can't help it."

"But you still think he's an idiot."

"Well, yes! Because he's operating with the attitude of 'I might screw things up so I'm not even going to try'. Why do you think he's still working at the shop? Because he lets the fear of failure get to him too much. He needs to take the plunge with _something_; it's the only way he'll learn. But he needs someone to give him that nudge in the right direction, and Brigid could well be that person. But he's done a damn good job of pushing her away, so if I were him I wouldn't hold out too much hope."

"She's not the kind of person to hold a grudge, though," I reasoned.

"There's a difference between holding a grudge and being deeply hurt and offended by someone who's supposed to care for you, James."

This was one of those times I wondered if I'd ever fully understand women.

* * *

><p>Ironically, given the importance of the Bats match, it was, to some extent, back to basics for me, Ryan and Della. Sinead wanted us to play our natural game, to forget this was a title decider and just go about our job of scoring goals. We couldn't really afford to do anything else, at least at the start of the match. An attacking mentality might lead to mistakes, while a defensive attitude would allow the Bats' Chasers to get on top of us. The challenge would be adapting our play as and when the situation required it. But there was a degree of relief that we didn't have masses of pressure directly on our shoulders.<p>

We had an exciting role to play at the start. Normally, Chasers used a Parkin's Pincer – a move in which all three Chasers all flew in from different directions towards an opposition player – on the Chaser in possession of the Quaffle in an attempt to intimidate or distract or otherwise put them off their game. On Friday we'd be utilising it against their Beater, right at the start of the match.

Strictly speaking, taking an opposition player out with a Bludger was legal, so long as the Bludger was hit by a Beater. But the tactic _was_ frowned-upon, as it was deemed unsportsmanlike and unsafe, so few teams ever used it. At the Falcons we liked to think that we played the game in the right manner; we played to win, but without playing dirty. This time round, our match plan _revolved_ around unsportsmanlike behaviour. It hadn't received full support within our squad – Julia still wasn't totally behind it, and Laura shared her distaste – but most of us considered it necessary, and Cato and Cleo were absolutely revelling in the plan. It wasn't often that Beaters were so involved in a match.

The rest of us were okay with the idea because of the context. Against any other players we might have hesitated more, but this was the Lynches. There was absolutely no doubting that their tactic would be to take Stefan out as soon as they could, so it seemed slightly less inappropriate for us to use the same tactic against them.

And I doubted there were many who wouldn't enjoy seeing one of the Lynches knocked off his broom.

"We can't touch him," Della warned me and Ryan. "If we so much as breathe on him, he'll try to have us for cobbing. Even if we _don't_ touch him, he could have us for blatching, so we need to make our intentions clear from the offset. If we look like we're trying to take him out, we'll concede a penalty and screw the whole plan up. Our sole aim is to distract him so the twins can take out his brother, we can't do anything more."

"I'm not sure how we're meant to fly _at_ him without it looking as if we're trying to fly _into_ him," Ryan said wryly.

"That's the sign of a world-class flyer," she said cheekily. "We can do it. I trust you boys."

It was a good thing she did, because I got the feeling Ryan was just as unsure as I was.

* * *

><p>A surprise greeted me when I got home – Carlotta and Kreacher were cooking together in my kitchen.<p>

"Don't be mad," were her first words to me. I had an odd sense of déjà-vu as she wielded her kitchen utensils in my direction.

"What are you doing?" I asked curiously.

"Master Albus is asking Kreacher to teach Miss Carly how to cook with pumpkins," Kreacher explained.

"I think my name's a bit hard for him to master," Carlotta added with a slight smile. "I'm sorry, I know I should have asked you beforehand but you were out, and then Albus came by and I mentioned it to him and he summoned Kreacher straight here-"

I couldn't stop a smile from spreading across my face, as I walked up to her and removed the utensils from her hands.

"It's fine." I planted a kiss on her forehead. "Just so long as it's tasty." I gave her backside a cheeky tap with the pumpkin-covered wooden spoon in my left hand.

"James!" she squealed, as she tried to wrestle back control of the spoon. "You've got pumpkin all over my jeans!"

"I'm sure I can take care of that," I said solemnly, "but you'll have to take them off first."

"Be_have_." She removed the utensils from my hands and rapped my nose sharply with the spoon. "Go and amuse yourself somehow while I finish cooking dinner."

I grinned and headed into the living room, where I wiped the mashed pumpkin off my nose and licked it off my finger.

I didn't say it out loud, but it crossed my mind that I could get used to coming home to Carlotta on a regular basis.

* * *

><p>"They're peculiar creatures, house elves, aren't they?" she said later that night as we half-watched a film on the sofa. "I had to think twice every time I said something, in case he construed it as an order. Albus asked him to do what I asked him, but I didn't realise just how literally he'd take that. I don't think I'd like having one of my own. It seems so unfair when they <em>have<em> to obey all the time!"

"To be fair, they _do_ like following orders, and I'm sure he really enjoyed teaching you to cook," I reasoned. "But lots of them are abused even today. Aunt Hermione's introduced reforms, but there's only so far you can take them when the house elves themselves won't complain about being mistreated. It _is _frustrating. She can't stand it that Dad still has Kreacher, but she knows Kreacher wants to serve him and sees him as the one remaining link to his previous master. Besides, if Dad freed him, he'd only go to another family, because he'd hate being free. At least this way we can ensure he's treated right."

"He does seem to really love you all," she said. "But then, I suppose they _have_ to love their masters..."

"You'd be able to tell if it was genuine or not," I said. "And he absolutely _adores_ Lily, he always used to take treats to her when she first started at her Muggle school, because he knew she'd miss the magical world. He clashes with Mum a lot, but that's because she likes doing household jobs like the cooking and the washing herself, and so they sometimes end up treading on each other's toes a bit. That's why he works at school during term time. I'm not sure what he'd do if he couldn't work there. I suppose Mum would just have to deal with having him around. There's no way that he could go to Al – he lives with Rose and she shares Aunt Hermione's opinion. It would be far too risky for him to go to Lily, when she'll be living with two Muggles. And as for me ... well, I suppose I could do with someone around to cook and clean, given that I'm useless at it, but I really can't see myself in charge of a house elf. I'll ask him to do the odd job if I really feel like I can't do it, but I couldn't let him do my bidding all day, every day. It would feel wrong."

"I know what you mean," she mused. She looked up at me, and a cheeky smile spread across her face. "I could be your house elf, if you want someone to cook and clean for you."

"But house elves are free; they work for the job satisfaction. Are you telling me you'd work for the same?"

"Well, no," she said, straddling my lap, "but I do work for something that's equally as free, and by my calculations you owe me payment..."

Like the good person I was, I duly complied.


	47. forty-seven

I woke early on Friday morning, feeling sick with nerves.

This was my third end-of-season match – and in each one we'd had a chance of winning the title, so long as the result went our way. It at least meant the situation I was in wasn't completely new to me, which had to be a good thing.

In some ways, I had less pressure on me than in those previous matches. The first time round we'd been playing for the Falcons' first title in eight years, which was a huge chip to have hanging over our shoulders. Then in last year's match us Chasers had had a huge role to play, which had been an immense challenge. I didn't have so much to do this time round, so my performance would have less of a bearing on the overall match result.

Still, I felt a lot of personal pressure on my shoulders. I felt like I owed my friends and family, Sinead and my fellow players, and just as importantly the _fans_, a good performance. This season I'd played some of my best Quidditch, but I'd also served up my worst behaviour off the pitch. I knew just how lucky I was to have regained my spot in the Falcons team, and I wanted to prove Sinead had made the right decision. I wanted to show the world I deserved to wear the Falcons colours, and that my England call-up hadn't been a fluke, even if I _had_ made a hash of that opportunity. I'd never let myself down _on_ the pitch, and I wanted to remind people of that.

Mum turned up at around eight for breakfast. It may not have been a Saturday, but she realised the importance of the match, and knew how nervous I'd be for it.

"Dad's got most of the day off work, but he's had to pop into the office to sort a few things out. He should be here soon," she reassured me, as she cracked four eggs into a saucepan.

I liked how she assumed there'd be an extra person.

Sure enough, Carlotta turned up within ten minutes of Mum. She'd been at work the night before, so she was running off only five hours of sleep. She seemed to almost regret not getting here first to start off breakfast. But within moments, she was back to her upbeat self, and was soon asking why the hell this game was on a Friday anyway.

Because the World Cup draw was scheduled when it was assumed the season would be a full-length one," Mum explained. "Then the powers that be decided the sensible decision was to cut the season by half, and scheduled the final round of matches for the same weekend as the draw. The International Board complained that players would be playing on the day of the draw and therefore unable to fulfil various international commitments, so the League moved the matches back to today to appease them."

"But can't matches go on for a day or more?" Carlotta asked.

"Well, yes. But the League were never going to move this round of matches by more than a day, because it'd mean admitting they were wrong. So the matches take place on a Friday when most fans will be at work, which quite frankly is a farcical state of play. But it's what we've got, so we just have to deal with it. Besides, I think Lily's happy as it means James will make it to her school dance tomorrow. It's _unlikely_ any of these matches will go on longer than a day, even if it is _possible_."

"Lily doesn't give a damn about _me_ making it to this prom of hers, so long as Cato makes it," I pointed out.

"Oh, don't say that. You know she wants you there, even if she won't admit it," Mum said.

"If she wanted _me_ there, she'd want Al there too, and I don't see her taking him along."

"Of _course_ she's not going to take one of her brothers as her date when she can take a good-looking eligible young man!" She sounded exasperated. "But she's hardly going to object to you taking Maddie, and now you've said you're going I think she really wants to see you there."

"Which is ironic, given that Maddie herself couldn't care less about this kind of occasion."

"She may _say_ she doesn't care, but she's hardly going to turn down the chance to take a date of her own."

"Only because she doesn't want to be the only one _without_ a date," I reasoned. "Plus I think there's an element of wanting to piss her brother off for taking the resident bint instead of Lily."

"James!" Mum scolded.

"You don't like Rosalind either!"

"No, but at least I use slightly more appropriate language when expressing my dislike," she said. "Besides, shouldn't you be concentrating on your own affairs rather than your sister's? Primarily today's game?"

I grimaced.

"I don't even have anything to _do_," I said. "Just get in the way of Eoin Lynch's eyesight at the start. After that, there's not much more I _can_ do."

"Except stop them scoring goals," Mum said. "And the only way to do that, is by-"

"Scoring goals of our own, I know," I finished dully.

"Not necessarily scoring," she clarified. "But at least by dominating the match-up and retaining the Quaffle for as long as is possible. Remember, a lot of the time it comes down to the mind. Who has the most self-belief. You let them into the game through goals, and you give them more of an advantage."

"But they can win without scoring the goals."

"They _can_, but if they don't score any goals it's all down to one man, the same as you," she reminded me. "And scoring a few might not make up the points difference but it might give their Seeker that extra bit of motivation to go for it. Do you really want to give them even the slightest opportunity of winning the Cup?"

She was right. Of course she was; she'd had enough experience at the top level of the game to know what she was talking about. But it was difficult to go into a match knowing that no matter how much was riding on it, your own personal performance may well prove meaningless in the end. I knew that mentality was a poisonous one, but it was still hard to shake it off.

"Whatever the result, just make sure you don't drink too much tonight," Mum added sternly. "Nana Molly's putting on a huge lunch for the whole family tomorrow for the Cup draw, and it really wouldn't do for you and all your cousins to be hungover."

"I'm not allowed to drink these days," I reminded her.

"I'm sure Sinead didn't intend the ban to last _forever_, James. I think she just wanted to make sure you got through the rest of the season without any more nasty incidents."

"But maybe she's right? Maybe I should just stop drinking?"

Mum shrugged.

"It's up to you," she said. "But it's not as if you have an ongoing problem with alcohol, is it? It was just a lot of things all coming to a head at the same time. Going out and getting drunk just exacerbated the problem. I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd lamped that photographer when sober, quite frankly."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," I said dryly.

"Possibly for the best," she agreed. "Point is, I think you can allow yourself a small tipple later, if you win. Maybe stay clear of that Heidelberg stuff though, you'll feel rotten in the morning if you touch it."

"Don't I know it," I said darkly.

There was a small _pop_ from the living room, and moments later Dad joined us in the kitchen. He looked at Carlotta, and then at Mum, who had a hand outstretched and a smug look on her face. He sighed, and plunged a hand into his pocket.

"Really?" he moaned.

"Really really. Hand it over, Potter."

He shook his head, and deposited a handful of coins into her palm. She counted them out, a satisfactory look on her face.

"_What_?" Carlotta mouthed at me, bemused.

I shrugged, but I had a wry grin on my face. My parents liked to bet with each other, and given the extra egg in the saucepan, I had a funny feeling I knew what this one was about.

"How you feeling, Jim?" Dad asked me, as he'd done at breakfast last week.

I shrugged.

"Okay."

He grinned at me.

"You'll do fine. You always do."

"Do you think you'll win the Cup?" Carlotta asked.

I answered her honestly.

"I don't know."

* * *

><p>One thing that could be guaranteed about the last match of the season was my whole family showing up to watch it. We were the first to arrive at the ground, but Albus and Rose weren't far behind us. Rose had brought Scorpius Malfoy along, which I considered an interesting turn of events. Mum and Dad greeted him cordially, but I didn't miss the warning look that Mum gave Dad once Rose had steered Scorpius in Carlotta's direction. I hid a grin; it seemed that when it came to Dad old habits died hard.<p>

The family arrived in dribs and drabs. Uncle Ron, Aunt Hermione and Hugo were the next to arrive, followed by Uncle Bill's branch of the family, including Teddy and the kids. Louis, true to form, looked rather worse for wear. They also brought along a surprise in the shape of Uncle Charlie.

"What are you doing here?" I asked as I greeted him. "I didn't expect to see you!"

"Wasn't going to miss this occasion, was I?" he beamed. "Falcons versus Bats, last game of the season, and a title decider to boot? It was either this or the Cannons match," he added in a low voice, "and I think I made the right decision. You'd better make sure of that."

"I will." I grinned, but I was mentally cursing him for lumping yet more pressure onto the match situation.

"Enough of Quidditch, though. I've got a bone to pick with you, young man," he said sternly. "What happened to your vow to follow my way of life, at Dominique's wedding? Not seven months later, here you are settling down with a bird! What's happened to you, kid?"

"I'm not settling down!" I objected. "It's just a bit more serious than I'm used to. She _cooks_, and even better, she _cleans_ as well!"

"Ah, well, it all makes sense." He winked at me. "Muggle, I hear? You'll have to introduce me to the lucky lady if the time ever arises."

"I can do that right now, if you'd like?" I turned to look for Carlotta, who was in discussion with Victoire. "Carla!" I called.

She turned to see me, and I beckoned her over. She said something to Victoire, before heading in our direction.

I turned back to Uncle Charlie, who looked surprised.

"But she's a Muggle..." he began.

"She came to the first match of the season," I said proudly. "She's well clued up now." She reached us, and I slipped an arm round her waist. "Carla, this is my intrepid Uncle Charlie – the one who works with dragons. Uncle Charlie, this is Carlotta."

"It's lovely to meet you." He extended a hand, which she shook; I watched for her slight surprise as she touched his calloused hand. "I've heard quite a bit about you, although I can't say I expected to see you here."

"It took me a while before I could see the ground, but we got there in the end." She smiled. "So, dragons _really_ exist?"

He grinned.

"Of course they do! Where do you think all the stories came from? You think someone just made them up? Surely you've seen James' dragon hide jacket? There aren't as many dragons around as there used to be, sadly, but there are still over fifteen different species, including two that are native to the British Isles..."

Carlotta seemed utterly engrossed in the conversation, and so I left them to it and headed over to Freddie, who'd just arrived with Uncle George and Aunt Angelina.

"How you feeling?" he asked.

"Fucking petrified," I confessed. "We've got a slightly unfamiliar role at the start of the match – me, Murph and Della. If we don't pull it off, then the whole game plan is screwed."

He pulled a face.

"Sounds rough. You'll do fine though. You guys have played enough with each other by now."

"It's not about our Chaser skills, though," I said. "It's our flying skills."

"Well, you've got nothing to worry about! You're one of the best flyers around!"

"Yeah, that doesn't guarantee I'll manage this though."

He shrugged. "The powers that be obviously think you will."

"Sometimes they put more faith in me than they should." He opened his mouth to say something, but I got there first. "Talked to Brigid yet?"

His face darkened.

"No."

"Well, you're going to have to sooner or later. You can't avoid her forever. Is she going to the Weasley lunch tomorrow?"

He shrugged again.

"Not unless you've invited her. I'm not sure if people are taking friends along or just significant others. And I'm sure she'll be busy with the Ireland squad's plans anyway. You invited Carlotta?"

"I hadn't thought of that."

He snorted.

"You'd better do, or I think Nana Molly will have your guts for garters."

"I can _invite_ her alright, but she can't go if she can't see The Burrow," I pointed out. "It took us long enough to make the breakthrough here, and we've not tried anywhere else since."

"I expect it'll be easier now you've done it once," he said. "Not that I'm an expert on magical theory all of a sudden or anything. Hey up, Rosie's brought Malfoy along, has she? Reckon he'll be at lunch tomorrow?"

"Behave," I warned him, smiling all the same. "Look, Brigid's just turned up, you could talk to her-"

"I'd better go and welcome Malfoy into the fold, don't you think?" he said hurriedly, and walked off.

I sighed, shaking my head in despair.

"He's not causing trouble, is he?" Brigid asked lightly, as she approached me.

"You know him, he lives to cause trouble," I pointed out. "You okay?"

"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?" She sounded amused.

"Underneath this cool, calm exterior, I'm bloody shitting myself," I said dryly. "But I'll be fine, my teammates are all world class."

"So are you, on your day! You'll be amazing, Jim, I know it-"

Her attention was distracted by something behind her. I turned, expecting to see Freddie doing something stupid, but my eyes fell on someone entirely different.

"You didn't tell me who you wanted those tickets for," Brigid said hollowly, seeing Ingrid wheel Mark's chair towards the stands. "Merlin's beard – I didn't even know you were still in touch with her!"

"I wasn't, until recently. She helped me out when I was in a sticky situation." I turned back to face Brigid, who had a peculiar expression on her face.

"I can't believe she's _here_..."

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, Brie, you can't _still_ not like her-"

"I was so horrible to her." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Oh, James, she probably hates me!"

Now it was clear why she was so hesitant about Ingrid's presence, my heart softened.

"It'll be _fine_," I reassured her. "Of course she doesn't hate you! If you feel bad about it, just go and talk to her, she won't bite your head off!"

She looked slightly less nervous.

"Okay," she said. "Yeah, I'll do that, I'll go and talk to her-"

She stopped midway through her sentence. I turned in the direction of her gaze again, and saw Freddie leading Carlotta towards Ingrid and Mark. As we watched, he greeted Ingrid with a cordial kiss on the cheek and then shook hands with Mark, before gesturing towards Carlotta, presumably introducing them all. I wasn't sure whether to be grateful to him for approaching Ingrid with such friendliness after everything that had happened, appreciative that he'd taken Carlotta with him, or petrified that he was introducing her to my ex-girlfriend.

Nevertheless, he was demonstrating that kind-hearted side to him which, in my opinion, he didn't show often enough, and when I turned back to face Brigid she had a soft, slightly adoring expression on her face.

If only he'd just stop being such a bloody idiot.

* * *

><p>The tension in the changing room was enormous. The entire squad was here – team, reserves and spares. The spare players had absolutely no requirement to even be at the game, but there was never any chance that someone might not turn up.<p>

That was to say, _almost_ the entire squad was here. All the reserves and spares were present – but we didn't have a full team.

Alfie, our captain, wasn't here.

"Where the hell _is_ he?" Sinead hissed, pacing the floor. "He's _always_ here early, this isn't like him at all..."

At that precise moment, he burst through the door with his kit bag slung over his shoulder and his broomstick in his hand.

"I'm so sorry," he panted heavily. "It's Elodie – she's been rushed to hospital, they think it's early labour-"

Elodie was his older sister. We knew she was pregnant – but she wasn't due for another eight or so weeks. When he'd told us the news, he'd assured us he wouldn't miss any training, let alone a match.

This was catastrophically bad timing.

Sinead glanced at our reserve Keeper, Sophie, who gave her the smallest of nods. She then turned back to Alfie.

"Go," she said. "We'll be fine. You should be at the hospital."

"But – this is the title decider-"

"And there's no chance you'll have your mind on the game if you play. You'll be absolutely no use to any of us. Trust me, we'll be fine."

"We'll win it for the baby," Sophie vowed.

His replacement's reassurance seemed to clinch it for him.

"You'll all do great," he said, looking round the room. "Whatever the result, I know you won't let us down. Thank you, Sinead, thank you so much..."

And then he was gone.

"Well, as if _that_ doesn't put the cat amongst the pixies," Sinead sighed. "Sophie, you know your role, right?"

"Right," she affirmed with a nod. It was in preparation for this kind of situation that she trained alongside Alfie every week, practicing the same plays he did. She'd been in the game for a long time, and this kind of situation no longer fazed her.

"Good stuff. Della, you'll be captain today. Kit up, guys!" She clapped her hands once and we all leapt into action at the cracking sound.

The initial shock of Alfie's unavailability had passed, but I was still far from calm. Sophie _was_ a very good player who only played so few matches because Alfie was the captain, so our team hadn't actually been made much weaker.

But Alfie was more than just the captain on the pitch. He held us together off it, and always knew the right words to say. Of course Sinead had been right to let him go; his mind wouldn't have been on the match if he'd played. But now, we had to play our most important game of the season without him.

Mere minutes later, we faced another problem.

Sinead called us into a huddle in the middle of the room once we'd changed, and gave us a pep talk as usual. She then turned to look at Della, to make her own speech as captain – and that was when we realised she wasn't there.

"Where's she gone?" Sinead said frantically. "She was here a moment ago!"

We all looked round the changing room in bemusement, but she was nowhere to be seen.

"I don't know where she could be," Klaus mused. "I'll go and look for her, if you want-"

"No," Ryan interrupted, a look of comprehension on his face. "Jim and I can look for her."

"We can?" I said unsurely. I didn't know how he expected us to find her; I had no idea where she might be, or why she might have vanished.

But it became clear as Ryan pulled me out of the changing room, not through the main door to the corridor but towards the showers, that he knew the answer to both those questions. But then, that really shouldn't have been a surprise.

One of the showers was running. Given everyone else was in the changing room behind us, it wasn't hard to figure out who'd turned it on.

She was sitting on the floor in the third stall to the right, the one she always used after a match because it was apparently the hottest. Her knees were drawn up underneath her chin, and she was hugging herself tightly, staring at the other side of the stall, apparently oblivious to the water that was cascading over her head and shoulders. She'd changed into the top and leggings she always wore underneath her Quidditch gear, but her protective clothing and robes lay in a heap on the floor next to her, as soaked through as she was.

Ryan glanced uncertainly at me, then leaned forwards and turned the shower off. Only then did she even realise we were there.

"You alright?" he asked her gently, crouching down beside her. I remained where I was; I had no idea what to do.

Her lips moved, but no sound came out. She cleared her throat slightly, then tried again.

"I'm _captain_..." Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

And then things clicked into place.

Ryan glanced up at me, presumably to see if I was going to say something, but I shook my head and gestured back at him, indicating he should be the one to talk. I might have done an alright job at reassuring Jake the other week, but this was totally different. Della was nearly five years older than me, and I'd watched her play for Germany when I was still at Hogwarts. I had idea how to reassure such a senior player. Besides, this was something I had less experience about. I knew how to give advice about making a professional debut, because I'd been there myself. I'd only ever captained my house team, and this was about ten steps up from that.

I knew Ryan had little more experience on that front than I did, and that Della was senior to him as well. But he knew her better than I did. He had to, given the amount of attention he paid her. And he'd already twigged, not just that there was _something_ wrong, but exactly what that something was.

"I can't do this," she said in a strangled voice. "How the hell am I meant to be _captain_? I – I'm not Alf-"

"Of course you're not," Ryan said. "But we don't want you to be Alfie. We want you to be _you_."

Even as he spoke, she was shaking her head.

"But Ry, I can't captain, I – I've only captained once before!"

"What are you on about? You captain me and Junior all the time!"

"But that's _different_! There's only two of you-"

He shrugged.

"So there's four more people. It's the same thing-"

"But ... how am I supposed to keep track of everything that happens, how everyone's playing, what the score is-"

"You don't need to do that!" he reassured her. "How are you meant to play your own game if you've got your eye on everyone else? You think Alfie always knows exactly what Cato and Cleo are doing when he's Keeping? Of course he doesn't! He concentrates on his own job first and foremost. That's why we need a Chaser captain, isn't it?"

"But ... I don't know what I should _do_-"

He reached out and turned her face up towards his.

"The other four don't need you to do their jobs for them. They don't need you to _help_ them do their jobs. What they need – what we all need – is for you to _tell_ us we can do our jobs. _That's_ why you're captain. People look up to you, they listen to every word you say, and more importantly they _believe_ what you say. We all know we _can_ do our jobs, but if we know that you believe in us, then we'll fly out there knowing that we _will_ do our jobs, and we'll win this damn Cup."

She shook her head slightly, though this was made more difficult by the fact Ryan was still holding her face.

"Don't be stupid, why would a few words from me make them feel that?"

"Because they respect you. They value your opinion. They – _we_ – love you. You mean a lot to all of us, of course a word or two of encouragement from you will help!" He raised his other arm, and took her face in his hands. "We need someone to hold us together. To be there on the pitch with words of encouragement in case things go wrong. To remind us we're a _team_, not just a bunch of players. We need you to be _you_. Nothing more, nothing less. And I know you'll do an amazing job."

He leaned forwards slightly, and planted a kiss on her forehead. I shifted slightly from one foot to the other, feeling like an uninvited onlooker to a private conversation.

But he'd said all he thought he needed to say. He dropped his arms and took her hands in his. Then he rose to his feet and pulled her upright with him.

"Come here, let's get you dry." He pulled his wand from the holster attached to his wrist. It was a good thing some players liked to keep their wands on them at all times, I realised, as it would at least save Della the embarrassment heading back into the changing rooms soaking wet.

Once Ryan had dried her off, he turned his attention to her kit, while she turned to face me, looking slightly sheepish.

"I – I'm sorry, Jim-" she began.

I smiled at her, trying out a bit of reassurance of my own.

"It's okay. Being scared is only human, right?"

She frowned slightly, as she looked up at me.

"Are you scared?" she asked.

"A little bit," I confessed.

She returned my smile with one of her own, and placed a comforting hand on my arm.

"You'll be fine, Junior. You always are."

My grin widened.

"And so will you."

* * *

><p>Mum was wrong about a Friday match putting off the crowds. It might be a working day, but the stand was fuller than I'd seen it all season. As I flew around the pitch to loosen up, I noticed numerous familiar faces. These included the families of most of the squad, several people I knew from Hogwarts, including Allegra Fawcett and a couple of her friends from Ravenclaw, and a large contingency of journalists. I scowled when I saw Deirdre, the reporter who'd pissed me off in the Atrium all those weeks ago.<p>

The Lynches were looking particularly large and menacing today. Seeing me glance at them, Feargus returned the look and cracked his knuckles threateningly. He wouldn't look so menacing once Cato and Cleo were done with him, I thought with satisfaction. Seeing his arrogance gave me more determination to get my part of the Pincer right.

The plan was for Ryan to go in for the block at the start, making it look as though we were challenging for the Quaffle as they'd expect us to. That would give the Lynches enough time to split up, giving us the space to block Eoin effectively. We didn't want to give our tactic away too soon, and if we didn't at least act as if trying for the Quaffle, the Bats would twig straight away that something was afoot.

If we pulled this off, we'd be the talk of the Quidditch community for weeks, for both good and bad.

Or at least, we probably would be if the World Cup draw wasn't to happen in twenty-four hours' time..

Della beckoned the rest of us towards her. I slipped into the huddle between Cleo and Stefan, glad that the arm Cleo had thrown round my shoulders wasn't the one with her bat at the end of it.

Della looked a completely different person from the one hiding in the shower cubicle half an hour before. She seemed confident, determined and ready for action, and I was bloody glad I was on her team and not the opposing one.

"We can do this," she told us firmly. "We _will_ do this. For Alfie, and Elodie. For each other. And for Sinead, who's been pulled so much of her hair out this season, it's a wonder she has any left."

There were wry grins all round.

"I can't think of a better bunch of people to put my body on the line for – though there'll be less need for that this match, once we've carried out Plan A."

From the way she said it, I could tell she wasn't just trying to make us feel better. She genuinely thought we could pull this crazy, controversial, near-impossible plan off.

Maybe we _could_. Maybe this barmy idea of mine would actually pay off.

The Bats players had assembled, ready to begin, and the referee was standing on the ground beside the crate of balls with his broomstick in his hand, waiting for us to do likewise. I got into position, and glanced at their players. Their Head Chaser and captain Fiona O'Sullivan glanced at me indifferently – I knew she'd be friendly later, but for now her head was firmly in the game. Aisling Quigley went a step further and shot me a sly wink. In a way, this kind of inter-team camaraderie was nice, and meant the sport was played in its true manner. But it also made competing hard, because it meant inflicting defeat upon friends.

Then I found the Lynch brothers, and any hesitation about beating the Bats was forgotten.

The referee kicked the crate open. The Bludgers shot upwards, straight past us. The Snitch was also gone in a trice; I noticed both Seekers following its trajectory. The referee threw the Quaffle into the air and blew his whistle – and we were off.

Feargus Lynch immediately flew up to meet one of the Bludgers, which had now noticed it had targets and was heading back down towards us. Eoin headed towards the other Bludger, but Cleo had already commandeered it. Ryan and Della dived in for the Quaffle, and I headed off to the left of the pitch as I often did at the start of the match.

The Bats won the Quaffle, and immediately headed up the pitch towards Sophie and the posts. We made as if to follow them, Della taking the right flank and Ryan steaming up the middle – but then we diverted.

We had to make sure we didn't look as if we were flying directly _at_ Eoin. This was relatively easy for Della and me; we could just head a few yards to his left and right, and position ourselves so as to block his peripheral vision. Ryan had the hardest job. He'd been lumped with it because being the broadest meant he'd be most effective. But if he flew straight at his target, he'd be penalised for blatching, flying towards another player in an attempt to collide with him. Even though Ryan didn't mean to hit Eoin, it would look as if he did.

So he couldn't get to his destination in one straight line. Instead, while Della and I headed to spots level with and at either side of Eoin, Ryan headed low, to a spot a few feet below and just in front of him. Once there, he shot upright, stopping directly level with Eoin, just as Della and I reached our spots. Then the three of us edged towards each other, closing the gaps and forming a barricade round him without having to fly directly at him.

It all happened within moments, and by the time he realised what we'd done, it was too late. Feargus had hit his Bludger towards Stefan just as we reached Eoin, meaning that he had no defence of his own, save his bat.

And then Cleo struck.

The Bludger sailed towards Feargus from behind. He sensed the ball of iron speeding towards him, but his surprise stalled him for a split second. We'd been banking on this; Beaters rarely considered the possibility of a Bludger heading towards _them_, as they only headed where they were directed and Beaters were rarely the target. He pulled off to the side, but didn't manage to get completely out of the Bludger's range.

The Bludger hit him in the arm, knocking the bat from his hand. But he stayed on his broom.

Our human barrier had now broken up and Eoin was streaking across the pitch to take control of the Bludger which Cleo had hit. My heart sinking at the failure of our tactic, I turned my attention to the Chasers, who were hovering round the hoops and taking it in turns to shoot. Once she'd made a save, all Sophie could do was throw the Quaffle out into midair, where the Bats Chasers were recovering it and taking another shot. She'd saved most of them but we'd conceded four goals already-

The crowd erupted in a mixture of screams and cheers. I spun round to see Feargus Lynch falling to the floor. The referee drew his wand and slowed his fall with remarkable rapidity, simultaneously blowing his whistle to halt the game, rendering Fiona O'Sullivan's scream of "_TIME OUT_!" pointless.

And there, his arms still in the follow-through position, hovered Cato, a triumphant grin on his face. He'd cracked the Bludger Feargus had aimed at Stefan right back at him with unerring accuracy and strength.

I couldn't prevent a grin stretching across my face as we formed a six-person huddle.

"Amazing!" Della cried jubilantly. "Fantastic! I thought we'd blown our chance for a second – was that your plan all along, to get him with two shots?"

"Course it was!" Cato beamed. Not that he or Cleo would admit anything else, of course. "Want us to flatten their Seeker next?"

Della paused for a second, then shook her head.

"No," she said.

Cato and Cleo shot her bewildered looks, but Sophie looked satisfied with the answer.

"Are you mad?" Cleo said. "We could have them on the ropes! With their Seeker out, we'll as good as guarantee a win-"

"No," Della repeated. "This is enough. Lynch can't go on the offensive against Stefan, that's all we needed to achieve. If we take out a second player, our tactics will _really_ be questioned, and I don't want people to consider this a hollow victory for us. If we're going to win, it'll be fair and square. We've given the Lynches a taste of their own medicine, that's enough. Stefan's good enough to win his fight without outside help. From now on, we play our natural game. You two do what you think is necessary, but no brutality. Knock their kid off course, but don't knock him _off_. We good?"

She received five nods in response.

"Marvellous. Soph, good job there, they could have pulled ahead by a fair few. Sorry to put you in that situation-"

She shrugged.

"Paid off in the end, didn't it? Just make sure you get those goals back!"

"If Stef performs his task like he's meant to, we won't need to." Della still had a huge grin plastered across her face. "Good luck, team, see you when we win."

We split up, Sophie heading back to the posts and Cato and Cleo speeding off to take control of the Bludgers. The other huddle broke up moments later and their players took their own positions, looking shaken but still determined. I felt much more confident than I had at the beginning of the match. It felt as though the pressure was really off; the game was now in the Seekers' hands, quite literally, and that gave us Chasers free rein to play.

I loved that type of game.

Della seized control of the Quaffle once we restarted and she headed straight up the pitch, Aisling in hot pursuit. I stayed to her left, while Ryan dropped down below us. Lynch hit a Bludger towards us; Della ducked it, I swerved left, and it sailed straight past us into Cleo's awaiting bat, which redirected it towards their defending Chasers. They were forced to scatter, leaving the air between us and their Keeper open. Della pulled her arm back to aim, but their Keeper was one step ahead of her, and instead of lunging for where she aimed, he dropped low, to intercept the shot from Ryan.

Except that Della was a couple more steps ahead of him, and instead of executing a Porskoff Ploy, she whipped the Quaffle out to me.

While her arm was still behind her back. I didn't even have to move; the Quaffle sailed straight towards my outstretched hand.

How did she _do_ that?

I shook my head, pushed that thought to the back of my mind, and sent the Quaffle sailing through the unguarded left-hand hoop. We'd clawed one goal back already, and with that our confidence levels rose.

Of course, with the game effectively being played out solely between the Seekers, the pressure was off _their_ Chasers too. And with two Irish internationals who knew Ryan's play intricately, they were a formidable opposition. The result was an enthralling Chaser match-up for the neutral spectator as all six of us just stripped it all back and did what we did best. It meant lots of impressive saves, and equal amounts of spectacular goals.

It was enjoyable being part of it, and if it were the first match of the season I'd have thoroughly loved it. But as it was, while being fairly even on the scoreboard even after two hours didn't necessarily _matter,_ it did mean we couldn't afford to let our guard down for one moment, and that Stefan still had to catch the Snitch if we were to win the Cup.

And all six of us definitely looked as though we'd been playing for two hours. Cato and Cleo had been primarily targeting the Bats' Seeker, trying to distract him from his search for the Snitch, but they'd also aimed the Bludgers at the Chasers, who, without a second Beater to guard them, had been forced to abort some of their most successful moves to avoid being struck, and even then the Bagmans had scored a fair few hits. This was the only reason we were edging the match by forty points.

Of course, Eoin Lynch was primarily guarding his Seeker from the Bludgers, but he was making sure to take advantage of any opportunities to hit them away, and was aiming them right back at us. That was where our Beater advantage was paying off most, but despite the extra protection I'd still copped a blow to the left leg. Luckily it was below the knee, so I could still grip the broom with both legs and didn't need a hand on the broom, but it was painful and made me feel slightly unbalanced all the same. Della was bleeding from the arm, and Ryan had picked up the same injury I had in our first match, and was playing with broken fingers on his right hand.

But we played on. And we'd keep playing, until that Snitch was caught.

I just wished Stefan would get a bloody move on.

Aisling scored. They were now thirty points behind. Sophie shook her head in disappointment but collected the Quaffle and passed it out to Ryan. He took it in his good hand and headed up the pitch, offloading to Della as soon as he could.

And then the crowd let out a collective gasp.

The hardest part about playing Quidditch was ignoring the Seekers. Most of the time it was easy, but if one or both of them went into a dive or there was a high-speed chase across the pitch, it was hard to keep focused on the Quaffle. It was crucial to do just that though. Numerous matches had come down to one or two goals scored by the eventual winning team while the opposition was preoccupied with watching the Seekers.

This time, we all stopped. This play could well decide the Quidditch Cup, and none of us could tear our eyes away from it.

Both Seekers were diving towards the ground at a ridiculously high speed. People said Seekers had to be light, fast, observant and able to fly with just their knees. Personally I thought those people forgot an extra element, that of complete and utter madness. Who else would willingly plunge towards the ground at top speeds in pursuit of a tiny metal ball? Nevertheless, that was where Stefan and their Seeker were both headed. I didn't even know if they were actually chasing the Snitch; my eyesight wasn't good enough to see it, and Stefan was as gifted at Wronski Feints as his father Viktor had been. He was slightly in the lead, which lent credibility to the possibility he was bluffing but also put him in a favourable position if he _was_ chasing the Snitch, but the Bats' Seeker was lighter and faster, and was making ground on him. They drew level ... the Bats' Seeker pulled ahead ... they were within feet of the ground...

And then Stefan veered off sharply to the right. The Bats' Seeker tried to do likewise, but spun out ever so slightly. It was a tiny error, but a costly one, a cost which became fully apparent when Stefan pulled up seconds later, both arms raised in triumph, and one fist clenched as though holding a struggling Snitch captive...

The referee blew his whistle to end the match.

And then the whole place erupted.

Within seconds Stefan was mobbed by Ryan and Sophie. I headed at full speed towards them and collided with Cato as we both reached the growing huddle, but we didn't care, _nobody_ cared, because we'd just won the Cup; we were all screaming and yelling and cheering, our exclamations all intermingled and unintelligible aside from Ryan's loud swearing.

We reached the ground, and Alfie was the first to reach us, screaming "_It's a girl_!" followed by "_We've bloody won_!" Then Roxanne leapt at us, clinging onto Ryan's back, and Klaus wrapped his arms round Della and smacked a kiss on her cheek, and then the rest of the squad joined us, all whooping and hollering, and Sinead was there too, in floods of tears as she embraced her son.

The rest of the crowd spilled onto the pitch, waving Falcons scarves in the air in celebration; I could see Dad, and Al, and Lily, and Freddie, and Brigid, and little Dora, all heading towards us-

But Carlotta got there first, and threw her arms around my neck in jubilation, crying and laughing at the same time. And although I'd just helped win a third consecutive Quidditch League, my main source of happiness as I picked her up and swung her round in circles was that she was celebrating the victory of a team she'd only known about for five months, as though it was the best thing that had ever happened to her.


	48. forty-eight

"There's _nothing there_, James-"

"You said that last time, and remember what happened?"

"James, I work two doors up from here! There is absolutely _no way_ there's a wizarding pub here!"

Given that I was currently looking directly at it, it was all I could do to suppress a laugh.

"But you can see Freddie, right?"

"Well, yes, he's right there."

Freddie winked at me, before turning and heading into the Leaky Cauldron.

"I – wait, he's just vanished! He-" Carlotta turned to look up at me. "Did he just go into the pub?"

I grinned. "You're learning."

"So it _is_ there."

"I told you it was!"

"Yes, but when I can't see something the most likely assumption is that it's not there."

"Oh, you and your Muggle mind." I squeezed her shoulders slightly. "You'll soon learn to think wizard. Want to try again?"

"What does it look like? That helped last time."

"It's an old building. Built in the fifteen hundreds sometime. Nothing too special – it's a bit shabby if I'm honest with you, but it looks like your typical sixteenth century Muggle pub. There's even a little sign hanging over the door – you have those on Muggle pubs, don't you? This one looks like a cauldron, oddly enough-"

"Got it!" she said triumphantly.

"Good stuff." I grinned, and led her forwards into the pub. "Welcome to the gateway to wizarding London."

The pub was heaving with patrons celebrating the Falcons win. Stefan was sitting by the bar, surrounded by admiring women and seeming to enjoy every bit of the attention. Roxanne, Alfie, Cato, Cleo, Klaus and Jake were seeing off shots further up the bar counter, and as I watched, Louis and Maddie joined them. The rest of the squad had pushed three large tables together and were sitting round them, with a few more of my cousins, Albus, Lily and Kit. They too were surrounded, and Carlotta and I had to fight through the throng to get to them.

"Maddie and Kit are here?" Carlotta hissed. "But they're Muggles too-"

"Lily first brought them here years ago; they're pros at this by now."

"Are we staying here all night?"

"No, we'll move on to the Hinky later."

"The _what_?"

"The Drunken Hinkypunk. The nightclub up the way." I squeezed onto the bench seat next to Ryan and pulled Carlotta down beside me.

"_Hinkypunk_?"

"Magical creature. You guys name places after animals, right? Well, so do we."

"Up the way?"

"Out the back of the pub. Diagon Alley."

"Diagonally?"

"No, Diagon Alley." I took care to enunciate. "It's where most of our shops, restaurants and general community are located. And our best nightclub."

"But ... there's no room for it-"

"Course there is!" I took the tankards of mead Della handed me with a grateful smile. "What you have to remember," I continued, sliding one of the tankards into Carlotta's hands, "is that you have a narrow perspective on the world. You believe what you see, and if you can't see it then it can't happen. That's one of the reasons we've managed to stay hidden from the Muggle world all these years. You need to understand that space can be manipulated, changed, expanded. Don't ask me the specifics because I'm no expert on magical theory, but that's how Diagon Alley fits into Muggle London. It doesn't need Muggle space; it exists in magical space. Make sense?"

She shook her head but she was smiling all the same.

"None at all!" She laughed and looked down at her tankard. "I think I need more of this before I try to get my head around it all."

"Good plan," I said approvingly.

The night passed in much of a blur. Mead turned into Firewhisky, and then we hit the brandy and that was when things really got going. The sight of Diagon Alley amazed Carlotta, and the best thing was I knew she'd barely remember it in the morning, so I'd be able to bring her back here again and get that same reaction from her all over again.

We were joined by players from other clubs as and when their matches finished. Puddlemere had beaten the Cannons within ten minutes flat, and both squads and their spectators had headed straight to Falmouth to watch our match; the majority of them had then headed straight to the Leaky Cauldron once the match had finished, pre-empting our evening's movements. But the other matches were longer affairs, and so Tornados, Kestrels, Harpies and Pride players alike all joined us in dribs and drabs as the evening went on.

Some of the more friendly Bats players showed up in the Hinky later on. I presumed they'd headed back to Ballycastle for a few hours to come to terms with the result and have a post-season briefing. We'd had something similar in our own changing room after the trophy presentation, though it had been short and alcohol fuelled.

Sinead had reminded us that our next commitment was the annual exhibition match against the German League winners in December and pointed out the possibility of short-term contracts with teams overseas in the interim; all Quidditch Leagues would pause for the World Cup, but several would start up again in September. Given that our season wouldn't start until February, a short-term contract certainly seemed like the best option, both in terms of ensuring an income and maintaining overall fitness levels.

I knew Ryan and Della were amongst those who'd already told Brigid to hear offers from foreign teams. I hadn't approached her with my own request yet, wanting time to mull the idea over fully, but I'd probably take up the opportunity. The thought of playing somewhere like Australia or Brazil for a few months was tantalising.

Aisling Quigley was one of many players who approached me in the Hinky, a rueful expression on her face.

"Nice work, Potter." She held out a hand sportingly. "The better team won."

"We got lucky," I corrected her, taking her hand and shaking it firmly. "You could have won just as easily. It was just luck Stefan got to the Snitch first."

"I wouldn't call taking out our Beater lucky," she pointed out. "Not many teams would even _try_ that tactic, let alone pull it off. It was a good move. I hear you thought it up, too. Maybe there's a Beater in you there somewhere!"

I grinned.

"I hope not; I wouldn't want to end up like the Lynches."

"They're not_ that_ bad – okay, they _are_ that bad," Aisling admitted. "At least you don't have to play with them, for club _or_ country. Instead you get the Bagmans, who may be brutal on the pitch but are soft as anything off it."

I pulled a face.

"I don't know; I wouldn't want to call either of them soft to their faces."

She laughed.

"Enjoy yourself tonight, Junior, you deserve it."

"Thanks, Quiggs. Good luck in the World Cup."

She grimaced slightly.

"Don't remind me. I've got all sorts of team duties to perform tomorrow at the draw; I can't see myself enjoying it at all." She glanced at her bottle of beer, apparently considering whether she should be drinking it. But then she shrugged, and knocked the rest of it back. "Well, it's not like Murph won't be in a worse state. I'd better go find Mikey Wood, he owes me a drink..."

As soon as she'd disappeared into the drunken crowd, Ryan appeared at my other side, and slung an arm round my shoulders.

"You did good today, Junior," he said.

"So did you," I countered. "In fact, I'd say you did better; without you, we wouldn't have had a captain out there."

He shrugged, and took a swig of his drink.

"It was nothing. I just happened to be the first one to find her-"

"You knew where she was. What was wrong. What to say to her. Trust me, mate, it was down to you in the end. I wouldn't have had a clue where to start."

"You'd have done a fine job," he said, squeezing my shoulders tightly.

"Not as good as the one you did, though."

"Well, I guess we'll never know." He shrugged again. "Hopefully we won't need to give her that kind of pep talk again. And if we do, ideally she won't be wearing wet, skin-tight clothing."

* * *

><p>"Please don't ask me to describe the Burrow to you," I begged Carlotta the next morning as we headed up the lane towards my grandparents' house.<p>

"Why not? That seems to help me get past the wards."

"Because it looks completely barmy, even for a magical building. I've never seen anything like it. I expect it used to be a conventional farmhouse, before all the extra bits were added here, there and everywhere. It's a hotchpotch of rooms. There's no way I can describe it to you. But I absolutely love it here; it's probably my second favourite place in the world, after Hogwarts."

"Not your childhood home?"

I paused for a moment, thinking of my parents' home just up the road, that we'd just walked from after Apparating there. The village of Ottery St. Catchpole itself was inhabited by Muggles so my parents' house wasn't hidden by anti-Muggle wards. Mum and Dad had been lazy and Flooed to the Burrow, but Carlotta couldn't travel by Floo or Apparition to a place she couldn't see, so we had to walk there.

"I guess I have a lot of happy memories from that house from before I went to Hogwarts, before I starting resenting Dad," I said slowly. "But the more recent memories, from when things were awkward between us are more vivid. They ... they're not _un_happy memories, but I can't say I'd use them to ward off a Dementor."

Carlotta _did_ know about Dementors, which had come up in Dad's backstory, so I didn't have to elaborate.

"But my grandparents? I love them both to bits. We _all_ do. Yeah, we all went through phases where we thought it wasn't _cool_ to spend time with family, and we didn't wear our Weasley jumpers around school, but we all came out the other side and came to appreciate them as we should. I guess it's a bit different for me, Al and Lily as well, because they're our only set of grandparents. It's a bit easier to appreciate your living grandparents when you're used to visiting the dead ones three times a year."

"Three times?"

"Their birthdays – Grandma Lily's is in January, and Granddad James' is in March – and Christmas."

"January..." She looked at me oddly. "So, that time you said you couldn't go out because it was your Grandma's birthday, you ... you were visiting her grave?"

"You _remember_ that?"

She shrugged.

"My memory's not completely useless, you know. I remember it surprised me at the time, that you'd forego a night out because of having to visit a relative the next day. I didn't understand why it was _such_ a big deal that you couldn't get through it with a hangover. But ... it kind of makes sense now. It ... it was more special than that."

I'd worried Carlotta would think it odd I considered trips to a graveyard so important. I wasn't sure exactly why I thought this – she'd not given me any reason to think so, and it was hardly as if other people didn't visit the graves of their loved ones. All the same, it was something I hadn't particularly wanted to highlight, and it was reassuring that she completely understood.

"So, are there lots of magical people living around here, then?" she asked now.

"A fair few," I replied. "There are a lot of Muggle villages and towns with a relatively high proportion of magical families. We like to stick together, I guess. Strength in numbers. There's only one completely wizarding village in Britain – that's Hogsmeade, the village next to Hogwarts. Aside from that, we have to settle in Muggle communities or live out in the sticks like Nana and Grandpa do. The South West is a hotbed for wizarding families – here, Godric's Hollow, Chudley, Budleigh Babberton, Tinworth, Ilfracombe, Millburn, Wimbourne – and Falmouth and Bodmin, of course," I added.

She looked at me oddly.

"You made half those places up!" she accused.

"No, I didn't! Just because you don't know anywhere outside of London..." I teased.

"Oh, shut up," she said, but she was smiling. "So there are a few magical families from round here, then?"

"A fair few. The Scamanders, the Boots, the Jordans, the Macmillans, the Fawcetts ... us kids all used to play Quidditch in Nana and Grandpa's orchard. It was good fun."

"It must be nice, when you can all stick together."

"It is, but it means more close shaves with Muggles. I swear some of them must have seen us, or our Quaffle at any rate."

She shrugged.

"I guess it's like you said though. If we don't think it's possible, we just think we're imagining it. I expect you were all fine in the end."

"Yes, and no. Think of how many places have a crazy old Muggle man or woman who parrots on about having seen a ghost or a witch or a dragon. There was a guy down in Ilfracombe who saw a Common Welsh Green escape, about a hundred years ago now, and didn't get Obliviated like everyone else. He swore for the rest of his life he'd been attacked by a flying lizard, but people just thought he was mad. He wasn't at all; none of them are. Just think, that could be you in fifty years," I added cheekily.

"Get bent, Potter!"

* * *

><p>It took Carlotta a full half hour to break through the wards on the Burrow. Once she had, she realised exactly why I'd described the house as indescribable.<p>

"That shouldn't be possible..."

"What have we said about the magical world? Almost anything's possible," I reminded her, as I steered her into the house.

She'd been to Mum and Dad's house before, of course, but for all intents and purposes that looked like a Muggle house, both outside and in. There were only a few, subtle giveaways that a magical family lived there.

Nana and Grandpa's house was full of magical bits and bobs. I didn't think twice about them, but I remembered all the occasions Muggleborn friends of the family had visited the house for the first time and been completely struck dumb by the moving photos and portraits, talking mirror, self-knitting needles, talking chess set, gobstones, lunascope, self-shuffling playing cards, various Wheezes products and all the other weird and wonderful things littered around the house.

Of course, the moving photos or chess set alone wouldn't faze Carlotta as she'd come across them before at mine, but the other gadgets still caused her jaw to drop.

She seemed most taken with the three grandfather clocks which stood side by side in the living room, and didn't tell the time but the locations of all family members. One was for us grandchildren (and great-grandchildren now that Victoire and Teddy had started on the next generation), one was for Nana and Grandpa's children-in-law (although Teddy and Ethan had crept onto it) and the last was their original clock, with nine hands on it.

Uncle Fred's hand permanently pointed towards 'lost' which I found oddly chilling. I sometimes wondered why it didn't point towards 'mortal peril', though I supposed he was rather past that point by now. I also wondered how the clock determined whether someone was 'lost'; whether it meant he was lost to us, or that he couldn't find his way. I found the second one horrible to consider. I wondered why Nana and Grandpa hadn't had a separate category created for Uncle Fred's hand – given that removing it was clearly out of the question – but then I wasn't sure what I'd name such a category. Sticking 'dead' on the clock just seemed crude.

Of course, while the Burrow was still 'home' for Nana and Grandpa Weasley, it wasn't for the rest of us, so the Burrow was a separate category on all three clocks. It was towards that inscription that several of the hands pointed right now; not surprisingly, Uncle George and Uncle Ron's branches of the family weren't here yet, and neither was Louis.

Aunts Fleur and Audrey were deep in conversation in the living room, little Remus sitting on his grandmother's lap. Lily and Maddie were sitting on the floor in front of them, playing with Dora and her dolls. Once Carlotta had had her fill of the clocks she joined them, presumably seeking out the people she was most familiar with, or perhaps those she identified with most.

Mum, Kit, Grandpa, Uncles Bill and Charlie, Dominique and Lucy were already watching the Quidditch Channel on the television. The draw itself wasn't for another hour, but the pundits were already talking about the potential match-ups.

I headed into my favourite room of the house, the kitchen – there seemed to be a running theme here. Victoire and Molly were helping Nana Molly prepare lunch. Teddy and Ethan were playing chess at the kitchen table, and Dad, Albus and Uncle Percy were watching and chipping in with advice, though I doubted much of Al's was proving all that helpful.

"Ah, here's the man of the moment!" Teddy grinned as I joined them.

"I'd hardly say _that_." I grimaced, and fell into the chair next to Albus.

"You clearly haven't read the _Prophet_ this morning," Ethan said dryly. "Probably for the best, actually."

"No, I don't get it any more. Why, what did they say?"

"They didn't like your team's tactic yesterday," said Molly, her tone suggesting also disapproved of it. "They've claimed it's your idea; I think they've an agenda against you these days."

"Well, they _do_," I agreed, "but they're right that it _was_ my idea. Although I expect that's just a fluke."

Uncle Percy sniffed.

"I didn't think it was appropriate," he said.

"Oh, relax, Uncle Percy; Lynch was fine in the end! He didn't even hit the ground!" Victoire chipped in.

"Well I agree with Percy; what kind of example is that for the children who were watching?" Nana Molly chipped in.

"I think most of them were actually more captured by James and the other Chasers," Victoire reasoned. "Dora's adamant she's going to be a Chaser like her Uncle Jimmy when she's old enough."

"_Really_?" I said incredulously.

"Of course!" Victoire looked round at me. "You were incredible yesterday! She was telling everyone around us you're her daddy's brother; she was so proud of you. The moment we got home, she took out her toy Quaffle and broomstick and asked us to practice with her."

"Vic said no, of course," Teddy chipped in, shaking his head. "Bloody spoilsport..."

"It was far too late, she wouldn't have gone to bed on time!" Victoire insisted. "Not that _you'd_ know, you never bother to put her to bed on time..."

I tuned out of their little marital spat.

Dora wanted to be a Chaser, because of _me_. I still found it hard to believe I was being coached by one of my idols and playing alongside another; the thought that _I_ could possibly inspire young kids like Sinead and Della had inspired me was crazy. It was incredible to think I could be the reason a kid picked up a Quaffle, or got on a broomstick. It made all my struggles this season worthwhile.

"Is Carlotta here?" Ethan asked me, cutting across Teddy and Victoire's heated discussion.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, she's in the other room, playing with Dora."

"Have you warned her about-"

A squeal from the living room interrupted Victoire.

"It's okay!" Lily called out. "Dora just turned her hair pink, nothing to worry about!"

"Dora's Metamorphosing?" Victoire finished. "Well, she knows now."

Moments later Carlotta joined us in the kitchen, looking gobsmacked.

"I ... she ... _her hair changed colour_..."

"Yeah, she does that," Teddy said airily. "We've told her about doing it in front of people who don't know about her Metamorphosing."

"She can do that whenever she wants?"

"Not just her hair." Teddy screwed up his face, and moments later his nose changed form to a duck's beak. Carlotta squealed, and clapped her hands over her mouth.

"Ted!" Victoire scolded him, hitting him round the back of the head. "Stop freaking her out!"

"Ow!" Teddy said indignantly, but his nose changed back to normal nevertheless.

"It's a genetic thing," Victoire explained to Carlotta. "It's quite rare, actually. Teddy's mother was a Metamorphmagus; that's where it comes from. Dora and Remus have both inherited it as well. They can change their appearance at will."

"That sounds amazing..." Carlotta breathed.

"Try living with three of them," Victoire retorted dryly.

"Haven't you wondered why my hair's the same colour as the Falcons kit at every match?" Teddy added, in amusement.

"I just thought you'd dyed it," she said. "Or that you'd put a spell on it or something. Can you really change _anything_?"

He grinned cheekily. Albus and Ethan both let out snickers, and I had to hide a smirk of my own.

"Behave," Victoire said sternly. Carlotta's cheeks flushed red as she followed the train of thought.

"I could make myself look like a completely different person if I wanted to," he explained. "It made the Concealment and Disguise part of the Auror test easy to pass."

"Oh, you're an Auror as well?"

"You know what Aurors are?" Molly chipped in, intrigued.

"James told me." Carlotta shrugged.

The conversation was interrupted by Louis' arrival.

"Morning, Nana Mol." He headed straight to her to kiss her cheek.

"Only just," she pointed out. "I hope you didn't make any trouble for yourself last night?"

"I never make trouble," he said serenely, joining us at the table and surveying his brothers-in-law's forgotten chess match. "You could check him in three moves, Goldstein," he advised.

"I could?"

"He could?"

Both heads pored over the chess board, trying to find the moves. But Louis had already lost interest, and looked across the table at me.

"Saw your old missus was at the match yesterday." He leaned back in his chair. "Didn't realise you were back in touch with her."

I sensed Carlotta perking up slightly beside me. I assumed Freddie had explained who Ingrid was when introducing them but I wasn't sure how much more she knew. She hadn't yet asked me anything on the subject.

"Bumped into her the other week," I said with an offhand shrug. "Her fellow's a Falcons supporter, so I figured they'd appreciate tickets for the match."

"She's still looking hot," he said approvingly. "What's up with the fellow, anyway?"

"Cancer," I said darkly.

A sharp intake of breath echoed round the room, and Louis winced. Carlotta turned her head sharply in my direction, and I wondered what she was thinking. Dad had _definitely_ put two and two together. He gave me a knowing look across the kitchen.

"Cancer, huh?" Carlotta murmured to me later, as we all congregated in the living room for the draw, our plates heaped with food. The rest of the family had turned up eventually and Hugo had brought his 'friend' Alice Longbottom, which seemed to intrigue Lily and Maddie judging by the looks they shot each other. It was a tight squeeze – thirty-five of us, according to Nana Molly.

"Yup. Incurable, apparently."

"That sounds _awful_..."

"I imagine it is." I sat down on a spare bit of floor, and pulled her down next to me. "Least they've got each other though, eh?" I tucked a stray bit of hair behind her ear, then pulled her close and kissed her cheek.

"Yeah, I guess," she sighed. "You ... you've talked to her about it, then?"

"A bit." I didn't elaborate further.

Either she was satisfied with my answer or she just didn't want to talk about it anymore, as she changed the subject.

"So, how does this draw thing work?"

"It's fairly simple. There are thirty-two teams who've qualified to play in the World Cup. They get put in eight groups which are decided based on their world rankings. The top eight teams are in the first tier, the next eight in the second, the next eight in the third and the bottom eight in the fourth. One team from each tier goes in each group."

"Which tier are England in?" she asked.

"The first, of course!" I cried incredulously. "We're ranked fifth at the moment. Ireland are fourth."

"Who's top?"

"Bulgaria."

"_Bulgaria_?"

"Yeah – why the surprise? They've got some seriously good players. Stefan's Bulgarian."

She shrugged.

"I guess Bulgaria never struck me as a particularly prolific sporting country."

"You're thinking Muggle sports again," I reminded her. "Uruguay are second, and Peru are third. Transylvania are the highest ranked team to miss out; they're supposedly ninth best in the world but they cocked their qualifying matches up. Belgium, too; they're about fifteenth in the world but they didn't qualify. Spain did, though," I added.

"Spain play Quidditch?"

I had to hold back a laugh.

"Of course they do! Where do you think the Barcelona Banshees play?"

"Banshees?" She pulled a face.

"All-women's team, like the Harpies. There are witches and wizards all over the world, you know..."

"I know, I know. It's just ... I'm only just beginning to make sense of there being magic here in Britain, let alone in _Spain_. And _Barcelona_ having their own Quidditch team..."

"There's a large magical community in Barcelona. Dominique and Ethan went there for their honeymoon."

"Yeah, she told me that. I guess I just assumed they went as Muggles."

I opened my mouth to respond, but fell silent, as did the rest of the room, as the draw began on the television.

The beginning wasn't that interesting, as the teams in the bottom tier were simply assigned a group each. The third tier included Spain, Wales and Scotland, so we perked up as their names were tipped into the next bowl to be drawn out.

Wales were drawn in Group Two, and Spain was the next name out, in Group Three with Nigeria.

"Is that a good draw?" Carlotta whispered to me.

"About as good as it could get so far. Nigeria are ranked outside the top thirty-two in the world, and seeded thirty-one in the tournament; only Turkey are lower than them."

She nodded, seeming satisfied with Spain's luck so far.

Scotland drew a somewhat tougher task. Admittedly they were one of the top teams in their tier, but all the same they couldn't have had a harder draw than the United States, who were seeded twenty-fifth and therefore only just outside the third tier themselves.

Then came the second tier. Once more our interest levels rose. Amongst the countries to be drawn out here were Germany and Australia.

Germany were drawn in Group Two with Wales, and Spain's group picked up Canada.

"Is _that_ good?" Carlotta asked.

"Eh, so-so. They're one of the higher ranked teams in that tier, but they're fluky. A Spanish win wouldn't be out of the equation."

Group Four threw up a mouth-watering prospect, as Australia were drawn with New Zealand.

"I'll be heading to _that_ match," said Louis, and several family members voiced their agreement.

Then, _finally_, we got to the first tier of teams. Ireland were the first country out of the pot, into Group One with Argentina. I pulled a face; that would be a tough match-up for them. At least the other teams in their group were much weaker.

England got drawn in – where else? – Group Three. With Spain.

"You have to be joking," Carlotta said loudly.

Of course, everyone else in the room was more concerned with Canada than Spain.

"Well, that could have been nicer," Freddie said.

"Could have been worse," Uncle Charlie retorted. "We could've ended up with Argentina or Australia."

"But Spain and Nigeria shouldn't challenge us, and we ought to beat Canada too. We'll get out of the group," Dominique said confidently.

Finally, Uruguay were drawn into Group Eight, and the draw was done.

"One, Four and Six look tasty," Uncle Ron commented.

I had to agree with him. Bulgaria had been drawn in Six with Brazil, who on their day were world-beaters. Like Canada, they suffered with inconsistency, but if they played well they could challenge Bulgaria.

"I like the look of Two," Roxanne joined in. "Egypt, Germany and Wales in the same group? That could get interesting."

"Uruguay should walk Eight," Mum said. "But that's the only foregone conclusion-"

"Are you kidding? Luxembourg will steamroller the others in their group!" Uncle George protested.

"Not necessarily; Scotland could throw a spanner in the works..."

Not in the mood to dissect the groups at length, I got to my feet and headed through to the kitchen, where Nana Molly and Aunts Fleur and Audrey had retreated the moment England had been drawn.

"Hello, dear." Nana Molly proffered a plate of pumpkin pasties and I took one, reminded of Carlotta's latest cooking as I did so. "Is something wrong? I thought you'd be interested in the Quidditch conversation."

I shrugged, and took a bite of pasty.

"Our season only finished yesterday," I said through a mouthful of crumbs. "Only so much Quidditch I can take."

Aunt Audrey clasped a hand to her heart in mock astonishment.

"I never thought I'd hear you say that. And stop talking with your mouth full," she added sternly before Nana Molly could reprimand me.

"Sorry," I said, my mouth now clear. "And it's been pretty tense nearly all season as we only had half the number of games we normally do. Besides, there's still two weeks to go until it all kicks off, that's more than enough time to talk about it."

"'ear, 'ear," Aunt Fleur agreed. "Are you 'oping to play abroad this autumn, James? I 'ear Roxanne ees 'oping for a team in South America."

"Yeah, she mentioned Peru or Argentina. I expect I will, it's not often you get a chance to play abroad. I'm not sure where to head, though. As long as it's hot and sunny, I'm flexible."

Little Dora then ran into the kitchen, her hair bright pink, and her broomstick and Quaffle in her hands.

"James, James, will you teach me how to throw? _Please_? Daddy says you will!"

"Does he, now?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Leave James alone, Dora, 'e is still tired from 'is match," Aunt Fleur said gently. "Why don't you ask Roxanne?"

"It's fine, I don't mind." I ruffled Dora's hair. "Come on, menace!"

She giggled excitedly and ran to the back door. I laughed, and followed her across the kitchen to open the door for her. She was in the middle of the yard in a trice, headed for the old hoops I'd learned to shoot through fifteen or so years ago.

By the time I reached her, she was already on her broom and in the air.

"Whoa, whoa!" I called her back. "You can't learn to shoot until you know how to fly properly!"

"But I can fly already!" she protested, heading back to the ground and dismounting.

"Can you fly with one hand?" I picked up the Quaffle from the ground next to me and threw it up in the air a couple of times.

"Oh, yeah," she responded, realising the problem. "I mean, no, I can't-"

"I knew what you meant." I grinned and released the Quaffle; instead of falling with a thump to the ground, it sank slowly, as all Quaffles did. "You need to learn to fly and keep your balance with just your legs. Show me how you normally fly."

Within moments she was hovering in front of me, both her hands clasping the broomstick.

"See, your knees aren't together," I instructed. "You need to keep your knees together so you can stay on the broom without holding onto it."

But she was already distracted.

"Hey, Carla, look! James is teaching me how to shoot!"

I turned to see Carlotta standing slightly behind me, a smile on her face.

"I can see that," she said. "Is he a good teacher?"

"Really good! He can teach you too if you want?"

"Now, Dora-" I began awkwardly.

"I'm okay; I'm not really made for flying," Carlotta said over me. "Besides, then he wouldn't be able to give you his full attention, would he? I'll watch, and tell him when he's doing something wrong."

"Hey!" I protested. "I never do anything wrong." I picked the Quaffle up and threw it at her; she caught it deftly.

"James!" Dora whined. "You're supposed to be teaching me!"

"Hey!" I turned back to face her, and tapped her lightly on the nose. "Patience, missy! Now, are your knees together? They're not, are they? Ah, _that's_ better. Now, try taking one hand off the broom..."

Half an hour later, she successfully threw the Quaffle through the middle hoop, thirty feet in the air. Carlotta cheered and clapped next to me, as Dora squealed triumphantly and thumped her fist in the air, then hurriedly grabbed a hold of the broomstick with her other hand as she nearly lost her balance.

And seeing that overjoyed look on her face planted the smallest seed of an idea in the back of my mind, a seed that would soon sprout and flourish and take over almost my every waking moment.


	49. forty-nine

"This place looks really weird..." Cato mused, glancing around the large entrance hall of Lily and Maddie's boarding house.

"Don't look too intrigued, or people will get suspicious," I reminded him in a low voice, glancing round at the other suited and booted guys waiting for their dates.

He pulled a face, and tugged slightly at his jacket.

"I haven't worn one of these in a while either," he said. "Comfier than robes, I suppose."

"And slightly less conspicuous around Muggles."

"Very true."

"Found a suit that fits alright, then." Kit grinned as he joined us.

Cato returned the grin.

"Just about. Had to get Mrs Potter to make it a bit bigger across the shoulders, I've grown a bit since I last wore it."

"Don't say that too loudly around the girls. They already swoon enough at your muscle mass as it is," Kit responded drily.

Cato's cheeks coloured slightly as he turned back to me.

"Your sister-"

"Is about as hopeless as every other girl when it comes to men," I finished. "Don't worry, I'm sure she'll refrain from jumping your bones at dinner – unless you _want_ that, of course, and my advice is that you _don't_."

"You threatening me, Junior?" he asked, in amusement.

I drew myself up to my full height indignantly; not that it did much, as I was still a good few inches shorter than him.

"My mother taught me how to do a Bat Bogey Hex," I warned him.

"I'm sure she did, Jim." He smirked. "So, back to the girls-"

"If it's about my sister, don't try it."

"I was going to move on to Maddie, actually. What's she like when it comes to men? She doesn't seem all that fussed-"

Kit and I both snorted in unison.

"Are you kidding?" I said. "She's worse than Lil; you should hear the way she talks about a bloke like he's a piece of meat."

"Really? She doesn't seem like that..."

"What, from the few times you've seen her at a Quidditch match?" I said dryly. "Maddie might be straightforward on the surface but underneath she's complicated. She's seen her mum get hurt by her dad, and doesn't want to end up the same way. But at the same time..." I shrugged. "I dunno, I only know her so well and I'm hardly the most in-depth person around, but I reckon there's a part of her that wants to feel loved. She's a softie underneath. And she definitely goes gaga over a good-looking fellow. But if you're looking for a character profile then Atkinson's the best one to ask, he's spent more time with her than I have. He's observant, as well, for a bloke. Knew about my sister's little crush without her having to tell him."

"Yeah?" Cato looked at Kit curiously. "Who was that?"

"I'm not sure how she'd feel about us discussing her personal life," he pointed out. "She was hoping to go to this with Maddie's big brother. That's him over there, look." He indicated Robbie, who was waiting across the hall.

"So I was her second choice after him, huh?" Cato raised an eyebrow.

"Technically you were third choice; I asked Murph first but he's at this Irish function."

"Alright, Potter, no need to rub it in," he said, elbowing me. "So I'm here as eye candy?"

"Not exactly-"

"Pretty much," Kit interrupted.

"Least Lily won't be holding out for a marriage proposal," Cato said brightly. "Who's your date then, Kit?"

"The girlfriend," he said casually. "Another one of Lily's friends. She doesn't have a clue about magic, so careful what you say," he added quietly.

"Why doesn't she know?"

"Lily opts for damage limitation," he explained. "She's had dealings with the Obliviators before, and doesn't fancy risking it again."

"Must make things awkward for you, huh?"

"It hasn't been too bad so far, but I can see things getting difficult once we leave school. Lils, Mads and I are all moving in together, and while the place won't exactly be full of magic, Lily's still got the odd gadget, and I know Maddie's got her heart set on having the Quidditch Channel. I'm not wholly convinced she'll keep it quiet much longer-"

"She shared a dorm with them for five years. If she's managed so far there's nothing to say she won't continue to," I reasoned.

"Yeah, I guess..." Kit sighed. "I guess a part of me wishes she _would_ tell Immy, because then I wouldn't have to worry about keeping my mouth shut. I know it's not my secret to tell, and I'll never tell _anyone_, but it's not nice to have to keep something about one of her close friends from her. Personally _I_ don't think she or Grace would take it badly – if anything they'd just be upset at being kept in the dark for so long – but I totally understand why Lily doesn't _want_ to tell anyone else. She's scared of losing people."

The first stream of girls filtering down the stairs, all dressed up to the nines, cut off our conversation. Imogen wasn't far behind them, and Kit let out a low whistle as she came into view.

"Nice work," Cato said approvingly.

Kit grinned.

"Cheers," he said, before heading forwards to meet her at the bottom of the stairs.

Imogen's friend Grace arrived shortly after them, flashing me a smile as she walked past us on the arm of one of Kit's classmates.

"How much longer will the girls be, do you reckon?" Cato asked me, as the stream of girls slowed to a trickle, before petering out completely.

I shrugged.

"No idea. They're not the type to be fashionably late, but they do like to make an entrance."

"Sounds about right," he said dryly.

Moments later Maddie emerged in a knee length dress, looking more elegant than I'd ever seen her before, save for the trademark grin plastered across her face.

"She looks ... nice..." Cato murmured next to me.

I managed to refrain from rolling my eyes as Maddie reached the bottom of the stairs and practically bounded across the entrance hall to me, without so much as glancing at her brother.

"Looking good, Potter." She ruffled up my hair, then turned to Cato and looked him up and down. "You scrub up pretty well too, Bagman."

"I could say the same for you," he replied, smirking at her.

"Stop flirting with my date," I berated, as I slipped an arm round Maddie's waist. "And on that note, where's Lily?"

"Taking her time getting ready as usual. It's alright, she'll be here in a mo."

Sure enough, only another minute or so passed before she appeared.

"God, that girl is beautiful," Maddie said approvingly.

"She looks a lot like your mum..." Cato began.

"I strongly advise you not to expand on that remark," I said sharply.

Maddie laughed, as Lily joined us. She greeted Cato first, then turned to me.

"Looking smashing, Lils." I pulled her into a hug.

"Nice to see you made an effort too!" she replied.

"Course I did. I've got an image to uphold, haven't I?" I grinned, pulling away, and extended my elbow towards Maddie. "Lead the way, young lady."

"That's the first time I've been called a lady." She giggled, and tucked her hand into the crook of my arm.

"Yeah, don't get too used to it," I advised.

The dinner was being held in one of the school's buildings, which was advantageous primarily because that meant none of us had to worry about how to get there. Of the four of us, Maddie was the only one who could drive, but her car probably wasn't big enough to fit Cato in and, knowing her, she was undoubtedly planning on getting fairly drunk. Frankly I was impressed she was able to stand upright given the number of celebratory shots she'd consumed in the Leaky less than twenty-four hours ago. It made me feel as though my drinking days were behind me at the tender age of twenty-one.

Once in the hall, Lily headed straight for a table near the front, without even looking at the table plan.

"She helped out with a lot of the planning," Maddie explained as we weaved through the tables to Lily's destination. "One of the perks of being Head Girl."

"Perks? I'd imagine it was a bloody headache."

"Well, yes, but it also meant she could stick Rosalind's lot across the other side of the room."

She was right; that was definitely a perk.

I'd assumed I'd be sitting between Maddie and Lily, but the girls engineered the seating arrangement so Cato sat between them. I frowned as I sat down, and leaned towards Maddie.

"Is your desire to sit between two handsome Quidditch players more important than me wanting to sit next to my sister?" I murmured.

She looked at me indignantly, her cheeks flushing.

"No!" she said firmly. "For your information, Lily and I put a lot of thought into this and decided that if either of you were to sit next to a Muggle, it should be you, because you've had far more practice at getting by in a Muggle environment."

I reassessed the table. Sure enough, Cato was sandwiched between Lily and Kit on one side, and Maddie and me on the other. To my right sat Lily's very Muggle, very magic-unaware friend Grace.

"There's method in the madness," I said with a slight grin. "I sincerely apologise for the slight on your character."

"I should think so too," she said loftily.

"But I'm sure you'll get a lot of pleasure out of sitting next to Cato Bagman," I added cheekily.

"Hardly," she said dryly, though her cheeks tinged pink again. "You're not the slightest of characters, and he's wide enough for two of me. You're both taking up all my elbow room; I can barely move!"

"Yeah, keep telling yourself you're not enjoying it – oi!" I complained, as she threw a sugar lump at me. "Was that necessary?"

"Yes. You should just think yourself lucky I went for the sugar dish, not the butter dish."

"Duly noted." I grabbed the menu from the middle of the table and perused it. "So, what's the deal? We're eating first, right?"

"Of course. Why, you hungry?"

"Famished."

"After all you ate at your Nana Weasley's?"

"I'm a growing boy!"

"Yes, and you'll be growing in more ways than one if you're not careful."

"Oh, pipe down, Bennett. We're not gonna have loads of speeches afterwards, are we?"

"I suppose you sleep through the speeches at the fancy Quidditch dinners?" She sounded amused. "The Head might say something, and I think Lily gets to make a little Head Girl speech, but the main bit is the awards ceremony."

"_Awards_?"

"Oh, nothing _serious_. Lil sent a voting form out a couple of months ago. It's all a bit of a laugh; there are prizes for things like 'most memorable moment', or 'most likely to become a politician' – we all know who'll get _that_ one – but there are a couple of more serious ones at the end. Rosalind wanted to add some ridiculous 'King and Queen' thing in-"

"What?" I frowned. "How can you have a King; you're all girls!"

"This was one of the many reasons Lily turned the idea down," Maddie explained. "It's an American thing, I think. Rosalind's idea was that people would vote for the Queen, and their date would be King. I think she assumed she'd win it easily, and liked the thought of standing up at the front with Robbie and some stupid little tiara." She snorted. "As though _that_ would happen. It's obvious that if anyone was going to win that category it would be Lily."

"I disagree," I said. "I think you'd win it."

"Really?" She shot me a bemused look.

"Only because they'd all be voting for _me_ to be King..."

"You're _insufferable_." She laughed and gave me a slight shove.

"But you still love me!"

"Hardly."

"You invited me here, didn't you?" I pointed out.

"Only because of a distinct lack of other options."

"I'm surprised you didn't jump in and ask Cato before Lily did," I said, lowering my voice.

"Oh, shut up – she didn't even ask him, anyway! She got you to do her dirty work instead! That doesn't count as a genuine date, he's just doing you a favour."

"I dunno, he seemed fairly up for it." I shrugged.

"Well, he would do, wouldn't he? It's _Lily_, everyone likes Lily. So, you straightened things out with the love of your life, I noticed. I suppose this means it really is curtains for you and me, eh?"

"'Fraid so, my little buttercup," I said apologetically. "But there's still Albus, and you never know, I might be in need of a bit on the side."

She laughed.

"Yeah, sure thing Jimmy, I'll keep myself free in case you ever need a mistress. You think things will work out with her, then?"

"Well, I'd like to think so, although I'm not entirely sure what 'things' are. I guess we'll just play it by ear, see how things pan out. Neither of us really buys into serious relationships, and besides it's hardly going to be a walk in the park for her, having to straddle two worlds."

I'd expected her to pick up on the second point, but oddly it was the first that took her interest.

"Weren't you fairly serious with Ingrid back in the day? I mean, you were looking at moving in together, if I remember rightly. I know that doesn't necessarily mean marriage, but it's still fairly heavy stuff."

I shrugged.

"It's more a case of whether someone comes along who's worth it. Can you imagine me settling down with Astrid?"

Maddie scoffed.

"That woman was _terrible_; I still can't believe you went anywhere near her!"

"She was good with her-"

"I don't want to know," she said flatly, reaching forwards to help herself to one of the bottles of wine in the middle of the table. "Want a glass?"

"Would I say no?"

"Touché." She unscrewed the bottle top – I was reminded of Carlotta's mother's distaste for such things – and poured us both a glass. "So," she continued, "is she worth it?"

"Is who worth what?!

"_Carlotta_, of course. Is she worth your while? Serious relationship material?"

I shrugged again, and took a gulp of the wine, before pulling a face; I much preferred mead.

"I guess," I said, once I'd swallowed. "But it depends more on whether _she's_ interested in something serious."

"Why wouldn't she be?"

I went to answer, then remembered Maddie didn't know about Carlotta's 'Parky' – in fact, most of my family were still in the dark.

"No reason why she _should_ be," I pointed out instead. "Are you?"

"I hardly have a line-up of potential suitors to choose from," she said dryly. "But I take your point. Ooh, food!"

The emergence of the starters brought our conversation to an end and we turned our attention to our plates. Food, as always, took precedence.

But there was genial table chatter between courses, led mainly by Maddie and Kit who by themselves could talk the hind leg off a Thestral. Combined, they barely left any time for anyone else to speak, which may have been for the best, as it meant Cato could sit back and pretend he understood all the Muggle references. The only sticky point came when Imogen asked how he and Lily knew one another, but Lily smoothed this over quite easily by informing her, quite truthfully, that he was my work colleague. Luckily for us, Lily had already told her Muggle friends I worked in an office in London, so there was no awkward conversation like the one I'd had with Carlotta's family when I'd met them.

Once the meal was over, a woman I assumed was the Headmistress got up to make a speech. At first I tried to listen, not wanting to seem rude, but I soon realised Maddie had zoned out completely and decided I was free to do the same. I caught her attention and wordlessly invited her to a game of Bludger-parchment-wand under the table. I was leading by fifteen rounds to thirteen when the woman finished and Lily took her place at the front of the room.

She didn't make a speech in the normal sense of the word – "She knows most of us wouldn't pay attention to it," Maddie muttered in my ear – but instead produced a visual presentation, having compiled a collection of photos documenting her classmates' time at their school.

It was very well done, I considered; everyone was featured at least once, and the more timid girls were saved the humiliation which was heaped upon the more confident personalities, such as Maddie, Imogen and Grace, and those who deserved bringing down a peg or three, namely Rosalind and her friends.

Once that was over, it was time for the mock award ceremony Maddie had mentioned. Sure enough, Lily won the accolade for the girl most likely to go into politics, and Maddie picked up the corresponding prize for the sports industry; she rather appropriately won a tennis visor which she promptly pulled on. She also won the 'most memorable moment' award for falling into the school lake in their second year. Having been treated to Lily's memory of the event, it was all I could do to not burst into laughter with the female contingent of the room as Maddie proudly marched up to collect her second prize.

The most amusing moment of the night was when Lily came to the award simply titled 'most vain'. The moment she said it, I knew exactly who'd come up with it, and exactly who would win it. Funnily enough, they were both blonde. Unfortunately, instead of taking it on the chin, Rosalind refused to move from her seat when her name was called out. After a few moments of cajoling, Lily shrugged and set the mirror to one side, moving onto the next award.

"She just made that moment infinitely worse for herself," Maddie muttered. "I'd have just gone up and accepted the thing-"

"Yes, but you can take the piss out of yourself," I reminded her.

As she was still wearing her tennis visor, and the goggles, snorkel and flippers that had been her second prize, she had to concede the point.

The most touching moment of the night was when Lily announced the last award, essentially for the most appreciated member of the year. She clearly hadn't looked at the winner's name in advance, as she seemed genuinely taken-aback as she announced her own name.

"You'd think she'd have been expecting that," Maddie said dryly amongst the applause, adjusting her snorkel. "There are about three people in this room who would have voted against her. She's the most popular person in the year! It's like I said, _everyone_ likes Lily."

"Maybe she expected you to win it?" I suggested cheekily.

"Pull the other one, it's got bells on."

After the formalities, the night disintegrated into raucousness as Lily and her classmates went about seeing their school years off in style.

For a while Cato and I were quite content to remain at the table and set the world to rights over a few pints of lager, which was infinitely better than the wine on offer. We weren't spared all night, as Lily swooped down on us at one point and dragged Cato away to dance. Maddie, still with all her headgear on, soon followed suit with me.

It was later still, when we'd retired to the table, that Robbie approached us. He greeted me with the standard manly handshake, then introduced himself to Cato, before asking Maddie for a dance.

"No chance," she snorted. "Go dance with your _date_."

"Are you kidding?" He looked horrified. "Don't make me spend any more time with her than I have to."

"Not enjoying the night?" Maddie sounded positively gleeful. "I did warn you!"

"I know, and I told you, I didn't _want_ to come with her-"

"Rob, she asked you. You said yes. It doesn't get much clearer-cut than that. You brought it all on yourself. And I'm still not dancing with you."

He rolled his eyes, and instead extended a hand to Lily. She glanced at us, a slightly apprehensive look on her face, then took his hand and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor.

"Well, I've just lost my dance partner," Cato said, though he didn't seem too put out. Instead, he turned to Maddie. "Care to dance?"

"Why, I would simply _love_ to," was her reply.

"Wait, what about me?" I complained.

Maddie shot me a cheeky grin.

"I think Rosalind's without a dance partner," she suggested, before following Cato into the melee of people dancing.

I shook my head in mock disgust. Then, noticing Kit's mother on the opposite side of the room, I got to my feet and headed over to her.

"Hello, James," she greeted me. "Didn't your sister do a good job earlier?"

"She was fantastic," I said proudly.

"She's been a wonderful student," Mrs Atkinson said. "She's adjusted to everything with far more ease than I could have imagined. I remember her first few weeks here; she was so uncertain about everything. To see her now ... and to think, she could be working for the government in a few months' time."

"It's great to see her so happy with the hand she's been dealt," I agreed. "I just wanted to thank you for being there for her over the years. Your whole family has been such a help to her, I think it was a huge reassurance to her to have _someone_ here who knew about her right from the start."

She smiled, looking slightly abashed.

"I'll be honest, it's not something I've been faced with before," she admitted. "But it really was a pleasure to be able to help her ease into our way of life. It's just a shame Christopher reacted the way he did when he first found out..."

"Hey, that's the _normal_ reaction to learning about us," I reasoned. "And besides, he's been there for her ever since, hasn't he? That's what matters, at the end of the day."

"Indeed it is," she agreed. "It's nice to see you here, as well. I think it really means a lot to Lily that you could make it."

"The day I become too busy to make it to my sister's school dance is the day I become too big for my boots. Besides, Maddie would've castrated me if I hadn't come."

"Very true," she laughed. "That girl is a liability at times. But she does mean well." She paused for a moment. "I just wish she'd stop drinking wine through that snorkel."

I headed back onto the dance floor after that, swooping up a partner-less Grace on the way. Once other girls saw me dancing with someone other than Maddie, they all seemed to decide they wanted in on the action. Imogen was next to swoop in for a dance, and as the night went on I found myself dancing with most of the year. Rosalind thankfully stayed away, but her friends didn't. To my relief, however, Maddie took it upon herself to interrupt those moments. I even found myself doing a ridiculous dance with Kit at one point.

But the one person I wanted to dance with was Lily, who was unfortunately as popular amongst the blokes as I was with their dates. Too soon, the music man announced the last song, and my heart sank as I realised I'd missed my chance. But then she appeared from nowhere and took my hand.

"I saved the last dance for you," she said, smiling.

"What about your date?" I asked, as a slow song struck up.

"Oh, he's got himself a dance partner already." She gestured lazily over to my right and I turned to see Cato and Maddie doing some sort of fast-paced dance of their own at the edge of the dance floor.

"Is this her refusing to conform to tradition?"

"When _doesn't_ she refuse to conform?"

"Touché." I grinned, and hugged her tightly as we swayed completely out of time with the music. "I love you, Lil."

"Love you too, Jim."

* * *

><p>All I wanted on Sunday morning was a lie-in. Unfortunately I didn't even get that, as my phone rang at about eight. It was Brigid.<p>

"James, you need to get to St Mungo's."

"_What_?" I sat up in bed abruptly. "What's happened? Who's hurt?"

"It's fine, everyone's fine, calm down," she said hurriedly. "It's nothing serious – well, I suppose it _is_ in a way-"

"Get to the point, Brie."

"Right. The point. There's a case of dragon pox in the League and they're summoning all players to Mungo's to get tested in case it's spread."

"_Dragon pox_? Well ... who's got it?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Do you know?"

"Yes, but I can't tell you. Just go straight to the hospital, they're expecting you."

I grimaced.

"I can't say this was what I had in mind for today..."

"I know. I didn't particularly want to ring all my clients, either. But I'm afraid it's got to be done, sweetie. Let me know when you're done, though I'm sure you'll be fine. I've got to go; I need to make my way through this list..."

She hung up.

Fifteen minutes later, I was heading down one of the corridors of St. Mungo's behind a Healer, who directed me into a small consulting room.

"Someone will be with you shortly," he said, before leaving.

I sat down on the bed, and glanced round at the posters that covered the walls. They were emblazoned with medical sayings I'd heard numerous times before, mostly from Nana Molly and Aunt Audrey.

After a moment or two the door opened and another Healer entered, her arms laden with various potions and other medical equipment. It didn't take me long to recognise her.

"Allegra?"

She blinked as she realised who her patient was.

"Oh. James."

I felt myself swell with guilt, remembering how horrible I'd been to her that morning a couple of months ago, when I'd effectively accused her of being shallow.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out, shifting awkwardly. "What I said to you ... I was really rude, and I'm sorry. I don't think you're one of _those_ girls, of course I don't-"

Her expression was unreadable.

"I couldn't quite believe it when you said that to me." Her voice shook ever so slightly. "It was as though it wasn't really _you_, because I couldn't imagine you saying something like that to _anyone_."

"I wasn't really myself at the time," I admitted. "I'm so sorry, though, I really am; the moment I said it, I knew it was wrong-"

She smiled faintly.

"That's okay." She took a vial of purple liquid from the medical bag she'd set down on the worktop opposite, and handed it to me. "Here, drink this."

"What will it do?" I said warily.

"To you? Nothing. At least, nothing noticeable. But without it, the tests won't work."

"Fair enough. All of it?"

"Please."

I unstoppered it and downed the liquid, pulling a face as it hit my taste buds.

"That's vile."

"Few medicinal concoctions come with a nice taste," she agreed, taking the empty vial back from me. "You know," she continued, turning towards her bag, and away from me, "I always liked you at school. Not because you were good-looking, charismatic James Potter – that sort of thing isn't what gets my attention – but because you were always _nice_ to me. Even when we were little kids, growing up together in Ottery St. Catchpole. You taught me how to fly, and how to throw a Quaffle; I'll never forget that. And I remember when we played you in my Fifth Year, and I got injured, you probably won't remember though-"

I smiled slightly. As a matter of fact, I _did_ remember that Quidditch match against Ravenclaw. Freddie had aimed a Bludger at Allegra when she'd had the Quaffle – he hadn't meant her to get hurt, only to lose possession, but unfortunately the hit had been _too_ good.

"I seem to remember you refusing to leave the pitch," I said. "You wanted to see the game out, even though there was blood everywhere."

She turned back to look at me, looking slightly surprised, but pleasantly so.

"I was fine," she insisted. "Madam Hooch always worries too much. But you won the Cup when you won that match. All your teammates started celebrating on the pitch. You didn't. You came straight over to me and insisted on taking me to the hospital wing yourself."

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay." I shrugged. "I felt bad; one of our players had injured you. It seemed like the least I could do, as captain-"

"But you didn't _have_ to do it. I had six team-mates, my friends, my Head of House, Hooch _and _Pomfrey all determined to get me to the hospital wing, but you still insisted on doing it yourself. And it wasn't just me. You knew _everyone's _name, even the First Years. You helped a few budding Second Year players improve their flying so they felt confident enough to try out. You helped the Hufflepuff Chasers when they asked for tips on how to pull off a Parkin's Pincer. You gave some money to that poor little kid in my house who had his stolen by those bastard Slytherins and was upset he couldn't buy Christmas presents for his family. And you were always nice to the Slytherin outcast, right from the start."

I smiled softly, as that remark led my thoughts towards Ingrid.

"You cared about everyone, even people you didn't know. You didn't _have_ to do any of it, but you did anyway. You still _do_. And that's far more attractive a trait than good looks or charm. At least, it is to me. That should be what matters; what someone's like _inside_. People who only care about the exterior are superficial."

Her cheeks had gone slightly red, and she glanced down at her hands, which were knotted together, in slight embarrassment.

"I kind of wish you'd told me that before," I said softly. "It would have been nice to know there were other people who weren't drawn in by the fame..."

"You do yourself a disservice." She glanced back up at my face. "Most of the girls who fancied you at school? You may have caught their eye because you were James Potter – but they were mostly just interested in _James_, that guy in Gryffindor who had a nice word for anyone, and a little cheeky streak in him. I can't talk for the birds who you've picked up and shed since school; you seem to have had particularly poor taste in _decent_ women in the past few years, present company excluded ... but most of us girls at school didn't give a fig about the name Potter in the end."

I smiled sheepishly.

"I guess it's easy to get paranoid about these things," I admitted.

"I guess so." She took a second vial, this one containing a mucky green liquid, and handed it to me. "As before."

Once I'd drank the stuff and she'd taken the vial back, she carried on talking.

"I think I had this faint hope, when we got together last New Year, that it might become something more than that. I knew it probably _wouldn't_, because you'd gone off the whole relationship scene since Ingrid Feversham. But there was still a slight hope that maybe you'd see I wasn't like all the others. Like that heinous model you were with the other year..."

I shuddered as I thought of Astrid.

"I'd rather you didn't remind me."

She smiled apologetically.

"When you snapped at me that morning ... well, like I said, it seemed nothing like you. And I'll admit, snapping back might not have been the best thing to do, but I was angry. I felt so bad after I'd left though, and then all those stories started coming out, about you visiting the Lair, and that photographer..."

I suppressed a second shudder.

"Yeah, I guess I kind of lost myself." I ran my hand through my hair absent-mindedly.

"Well, I'm glad you're back," she said delicately. "And that Muggle girl, Carlotta; I talked to her the other day at the Bats match. She seems really lovely. Completely different from your usual type."

"Yeah, she is." I smiled fondly, as I thought about her.

"Girlfriend?"

"We've not actually put a label on it ... but yeah, I think so."

"Well, I hope you're very happy together."

It was said completely sincerely, without a hint of jealousy or malice. Because that was just the type of person Leggy Allegra was. I couldn't help but wonder what might have come about had I had more to do with her a couple of years ago, before Carlotta had come onto the scene. But I didn't voice this thought.

"You should find yourself a nice man. Don't settle for anything less than what you're worth, either. You deserve the best. Better than me," I added.

"And Carlotta doesn't?" Allegra raised an eyebrow.

"Of course she does. I tell her so all the time."

"Nonsense," she said delicately, holding out a third vial. "Anyway, I'm not particularly _looking_ for anyone right now. I'm just concentrating on my Healer training."

"You mean you're not fully qualified and you're giving me potions?" I joked, eyeing the vial with mock suspicion.

"Didn't I tell you? Feargus Lynch has paid me to bump you off."

I laughed, and knocked back the third potion, this one completely clear.

"Won't our families need testing?" I asked as I handed the glass back.

"I'm not sure." She frowned. "If this comes back positive, we'll have to. If not ... you _could_ still be carrying the pox, but it's unlikely. Obviously in this instance it's best to just test all players, because we'll have an influx of players over the next few weeks and we can't have an outbreak of dragon pox just before the World Cup. With a normal case of dragon pox, we wouldn't test people like this – most cases aren't serious so there's no real urgency about it. This particular one is quite savage though, which makes the situation slightly more delicate."

"What about Carlotta? And Lily's friends?"

"They'd be susceptible," she admitted. "I'm not entirely sure what effect the illness has on Muggles, though. Your aunt would be best-placed to tell you that."

I nodded, making a mental note to ask Aunt Audrey later.

"It's a serious case, then?" I asked now.

She nodded.

"Quite vicious. The player's very ill. We think it might be a foreign strain."

"_Foreign_? How would they have caught it then?"

"Well, a family member might have gone abroad and picked it up," she suggested. "It's hardly an implausible concept. In this particular case, the patient was abroad a couple of weeks ago."

I frowned, trying to work out who it was. A foreign international attending a training camp perhaps?

"Who is it?" I asked her. I knew the question hadn't worked on Brigid, but I thought I might be able to wheedle the answer out of Allegra.

"I can't tell you," she said. "Patient confidentiality."

"Is that really the only reason you can't say?" I said suspiciously. I couldn't see why she couldn't tell me who had a simple case of dragon pox; it was hardly as though I was going to _use_ that information.

"Demelza Robins has asked us to keep it quiet-" She clamped her mouth shut, but she'd already said too much.

"_Demelza_'s getting involved. But – that must mean it's an _England_ player, someone in the squad -" My eyes widened with worry. "It's not Cleo, is it? It can't be Cato, I only saw him last night ... oh Merlin, is it _Cato_?"

She looked awkward.

"I've already said too much, I really shouldn't-"

"You can tell me who it _isn't_, surely? Besides, they're my _friends_. Are they okay? They must be, neither of them have been abroad in the past few weeks-"

She sighed.

"It's neither of them," she said.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

"What about Emily? Or Michael? It's not either of them, is it?"

"You're not going to take me through the _entire _squad, are you? I'm _not supposed to tell you_-"

"I know! I just want to know they're okay! I'm being _caring_, you see."

She shot me an irritated look, but it was softened by the slight smile that was tugging at her lips.

"No, it's neither of the Woods."

"McLaggen? Oh, _please_ tell me it's McLaggen-"

"You're _horrible_," she said, her smile widening.

"So's he. Well?"

"No, it's not McLaggen. Sadly," she added, in a tone of voice which told me she thought as highly of him as I did.

"Had a run-in with him?"

"Tested him earlier. Bloody insufferable git."

"Try playing Quidditch with him. Come on, Allie, just tell me who it is, won't you?" I wheedled.

The nickname, one her friends used often, seemed to work. She sighed.

"It's Wadcock. Joshua Wadcock has dragon pox."


	50. fifty

"You know what this means?" Freddie said excitedly.

I prayed he wouldn't say it out loud. So far, I'd been able to kid myself into thinking it was a farcical idea, one that wasn't within the realms of possibility. Hearing it said out loud...

"You'll be back in! It's a no-brainer."

I frowned.

"I don't think so." I tried to ignore the excited flutter in my stomach. "She _dropped_ me; she's hardly going to want me back-"

"She said she just wanted you to get better. And you _have_. Why wouldn't she pick you?"

"Because – I've hardly done anything showy since I've been back. I've just supported the others."

"So? There's nothing wrong with that. Some of the best Chaser units work like that, with one player taking the back seat. Besides, it's not as if she's not seen what you _can_ do. She picked you originally, remember? She picked you based on that play. She knows you can do it. You've just shown her you're _versatile_. She's picked you once, there's no reason why she can't pick you again. Not to mention, you're already registered to play for England. Makes life much easier. You'll be in by the end of the week."

"I don't think so." I shook my head. "For a start, we don't know if this means Wadcock's _out_-"

"Course he is. Fawcett said it was serious. That's enough to put him out of the World Cup. Aside from anything else, you can't have a contagious player hanging around, can you? Besides, if it wasn't enough to force him out, Robins would have told the press he'd come down with a mild strain but would be back in a couple of days. She certainly wouldn't have wanted to leave it open to all this speculation. Have you seen the front page of the _Prophet_? They've picked up on the fact the whole League is being tested; they know it's something big-"

"I don't get that rag any more," I cut in.

"Don't you?" he said, surprised. "Would have thought you'd want something to feed to Cordelia."

"There's less expensive pygmy puff food around."

"True enough. But the point is, people think it _must_ be serious, if they're hauling a good few hundred people into St. Mungo's to be tested for the pox, so they've started poking around, trying to get the full story. If I were Robins, I'd just tell the press everything – _unless it meant changing the squad_. I'm telling you, Wadcock's out for the count."

"But there's a cure-"

"Only for the mild strain," he reminded me. "Remember, Wadcock's been out to Romania recently visiting his brother, who works with Uncle Charlie. This case must have come near-enough literally from the dragon's mouth. He'll have to wait for it to clear up on its own. There's no way he can play Quidditch in two weeks' time. You heard it here first – you'll be back in."

I shook my head, dumbstruck.

"It won't happen," I said. But even as I spoke, a part of me was beginning to wonder ... beginning to _hope_...

"Can she make changes this close to the start of the tournament?" Carlotta chipped in.

"Course she can," I said. "You can change a squad at any time, in the event of illness or injury, or severe disciplinary reasons. Can't shelve someone just because they're in poor form though, obviously; that wouldn't be fair at all."

In reality, few Quidditch players were actively dropped from such squads. Few injuries or illnesses would force a player out of the game for any length of time; most could be cured within twenty-four hours. Normal cases of dragon pox wouldn't cause the slightest problem. That was why I'd known once I was dropped that – short of another player going off the rails like I'd done – my chance was as good as gone. Because the odds of an England player picking up something severe enough to put them out of the tournament were so slim...

But it had happened.

"It's a funny name, dragon pox," Carlotta mused. "And it's actually connected to dragons?"

Freddie and I both looked at her, bewildered.

"Course it is," I said. "Why else would it be called dragon pox?"

She shrugged.

"We have an illness called chicken pox, and you _certainly_ don't get that by kissing poultry."

"Why call it _chicken_ pox, then?"

"_I_ don't know. There are numerous theories, but none of them suggest it actually being _related_ to chickens."

"Well, this one's related to dragons alright."

"Do you turn green?" she giggled.

"You may laugh," Freddie said sombrely, "but it's not as funny when you start growing scales."

Her smile vanished.

"He's joking," I said hastily. "You _do_ turn green, though."

The talk of symptoms seemed to have reminded her of what worried her most.

"What if _I_ get it?"

"You won't get it," I reassured her.

"How do you _know_ that?"

"I tested negative, didn't I?" I said.

"But that doesn't mean I can't catch it. If it's been going round the League..."

"Look, Wadcock only came down with it the other day. That means he'd been carrying it for a week tops. We haven't been in contact with the Puddlemere players in _ages_, there's no way you could have picked it up-"

"You all move in the same circles; of course it's possible."

"Okay, so it's _possible_. That doesn't make it _probable_, though-"

"But it means you can't know for _certain_!"

There was a look of utter fear in her eyes. It was one of the few times I'd been really aware that at the end of the day, she was a Muggle, and didn't belong in our world.

There was nothing to stop her living in it, but it would take a lot of time and effort before she would come anywhere close to properly understanding it. Granted, she now knew all about Dad's history, which would go a long way towards integrating her into society, but she still had no idea about so many aspects of our world which I thought so basic they weren't even worth explaining. I'd obviously given some thought to the differences between wizarding and Muggle illnesses, but it hadn't crossed my mind that while Muggles suffered from some things wizards seemed immune to, there were also wizarding illnesses she wouldn't even have heard of. I had no idea whether she could catch any of them, because it wasn't something I'd even considered before.

She wasn't in the least afraid about the negative aspects of my world she knew about – Muggle baiting, genocide, and other acts of unspeakable evil, all of which had occurred within my father's lifetime. No, what she feared was the unknown. The thought of learning new things every day clearly excited her, but as far as she was aware there were no limits as to magic was capable of. That _had_ to scare her.

"I don't know for certain," I admitted. "But Allegra doesn't think there's any immediate concern, and if you _do_ end up picking it up, Aunt Audrey is one of the best in her field. She'd have it cleared up in no time at all. If you're interested, I'm sure she'd let you borrow one of her medical books to read. Actually, I think Mum has _Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions_ and _The Healer's Helpmate_; I could ask to borrow them next time I see her if you like? It might help put your mind at ease."

She smiled slightly.

"Maybe. That would be nice, thanks." She paused. "Are there any other books about magic I could read? Not medical stuff necessarily, just _anything_."

"Are you kidding? There's books on _everything_! You clearly haven't been in Dad's study, the walls are covered in books. Tell you what, we can pop round now if you want, you can grab as many as you like."

"Really? You're sure he wouldn't mind?"

"Course not! He hardly reads them anyway; he just uses them for reference every now and then. Fancy it?"

"Would they be alright with us just dropping in?"

"They'd love it. It's Sunday evening, they're hardly going to be busy. Besides, I can see if Mum's got any more scoop on Wadcock."

"Thought you weren't thinking about that?" Freddie sounded amused.

"I said I wasn't thinking about my own chances. That doesn't mean I'm not curious about what's going on," I corrected, as I got to my feet. "Fancy coming along?"

"Are you kidding? Sunday's the day Aunt Ginny bakes, I'm not passing up that kind of an opportunity."

I snickered at his predictability.

"We can Apparate onto their doorstep, right?" he asked.

"Yeah, or just outside the back door, either is fine. Just make sure you don't stick your elbows out too much, or the Muggles will see you."

"Got it." He grinned, then Disapparated.

"We'll give him a moment to clear the way, or we'll end up landing on him and that won't be pleasant," I told Carlotta.

"Have you ever done that before?" she asked curiously. "Apparate onto someone?"

"Yes, and it's not nice."

"What happened?"

"I'd rather not talk about it."

She laughed.

"Come on, surely it wasn't _that_ bad-"

"It really, _really_ was, and it's a story I'm taking to my grave."

"You're no fun at all," she sighed.

"Course I am, or you wouldn't be here. Come on, let's find you some books to read."

As I'd predicted, Mum and Dad were all too happy to see us, despite having seen us the last two days. My prediction as to where Freddie's interests lay had also been right; he was already in the kitchen when we got there. Dad all too happily led us into his study and gestured towards his extensive book collection. Carlotta dived straight in, and I followed her.

"Why do you still have all Lockhart's books?" I asked Dad when I came across the offending titles.

"For laughs," he said simply.

"Do I not want to check those out, then?" Carlotta asked.

"More information on a Chocolate Frog card than there is in his entire back catalogue," I said disparagingly.

"I beg to differ; there's ten Chocolate Frog cards' worth of his personal information in them," Dad chipped in.

"Well that sounds riveting," I said dryly. "Clearly, knowing his favourite colour is violet is crucial to defeating a banshee."

"Lilac," Dad corrected. Then a horrified expression appeared on his face.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," I said.

"Thirty-four years," he said hollowly, falling into his desk chair. "Thirty-four years, and I still remember him telling us that. And the worst bit is, I can't suppress the part of my mind that's screaming at me to tell you it wasn't in _Break With a Banshee_ but _Year With a Yeti_ that he said it-"

"Please, _please _try harder. Lock it away in that box in your mind where you store all your memories of walking in on Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione-"

"That's great, James, really great. Only, I can shove as many memories as I like to that dark place in the back of my mind, but the minute someone else mentions them they barge right back to the front again. I'm going to be having nightmares of Ron and Hermione in your grandparents' broom shed now..."

We both shuddered.

"'Harmony between all magical and non-magical peoples'? _Ideal birthday gift_?" Carlotta looked up from _Wanderings With Werewolves_, a disgusted look on her face.

"Don't make things worse," I advised, shutting the book. "Trust me, you don't want to read them. And I think Dad might have a mental breakdown if he's forced to relive that time of his life. Which one did you prefer playing, Dad, the werewolf or the vampire?"

"We're not talking about this," he said, his eyes closed. I assumed he was doing his Occlumency trick to lock the dreaded memories of Lockhart away somewhere.

"Okay, so no Lockhart books." She slid it back onto the shelf. "Did he _really_ do all this stuff he says he did?"

"What, the guy with the most flowery ideal birthday gift in human history? Course he didn't, he stole all the stories from other people. He's in St Mungo's these days, with severe memory loss. Got a taste of his own medicine. Another one of Dad's life achievements."

"That wasn't me, it was his own fault for using a backfiring wand," Dad chipped in. "Now _that_ memory can stay. I've produced some of my most effective Patronuses with that."

"A memory of Mum being held hostage in a chamber with a basilisk by one of Voldemort's Horcruxes helps you conjure a Patronus? Nice, Dad, nice. What else do you use, Uncle Ron and that poisoned mead?"

"It's funny you should mention that, it was pretty funny when he was dosed up with Love Potion," he mused. "But no, I don't use it. I _do_ use the one of you hitting yourself in the face with a Beater's bat, though."

"That's alright, my best memory would be the one of your chair leg giving way underneath you," I retorted with a smirk.

"Ooh, Quidditch books!" Carlotta pulled _The Beaters' Bible_ off the shelf.

"That's a good read," I said. "Especially if you're interested in the strategic side of things. Not that it tries to be too complex. The first rule is 'Take out the Seeker', and pretty much everything else comes back to that."

"Maybe they should change that rule," Dad chipped in. "'Take out their Beater before they can take out your Seeker'."

"Catchy, Dad, real catchy."

"This is why your mother's the writer in the family," he observed.

"_Beating the Bludgers_-"

"-_A Study of Defensive Strategies in Quidditch_," I finished. "That's worth a read as well, actually. Let's see, what else is there? _Quidditch Through the Ages_ of course-"

"Oh, I've already read that one," she replied.

I frowned.

"You have? When?"

She shrugged.

"Ages ago. I can't remember exactly. You had one lying around in your bedroom, I figured I'd give it a read. _Flying With the Cannons_?"

"Not unless you want to be bored out of your mind. I only read that once, to appease Uncle Ron."

"Okay, we're not flying with the Cannons then. Let's see, what else is there ... _An Anthology of Eighteenth Century Charms_? I think I'll pass over that one ... _Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires_. Vampires? They exist?"

"Of course they do," I mock-sighed. "Keep up, Martínez!"

"That's why we're here, isn't it? You didn't tell me about _vampires_..."

"Yeah, they're one of the few magical phenomena Dad _hasn't_ come across in his lifetime. Here." I pulled _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ off its shelf and handed it to her. "That should enlighten you a bit."

She set the book down on the floor, along with the two Quidditch books, and continued along the shelves.

"_Encyclopaedia of Toadstools_?" I turned to Dad. "Why do you even _have_ half of this stuff?"

He shrugged.

"Bedtime reading?"

"Ooh, _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_. That sounds interesting..." Carlotta pulled the tome off the shelf.

"I'm mentioned in that," Dad said proudly.

"Along with half the books in wizarding Britain," I said dryly. "Yeah, that's a good one to read. Doesn't quite cover the end of the century though, which is when most of the big stuff actually happened. But you'll pick up a lot of the background stuff from it. Here, this is a must-read."

I handed _Hairy Snout, Human Heart_ to her.

"Written by an anonymous werewolf..." She looked up at me. "Did you say Teddy's dad was a werewolf?"

"I did."

_Hairy Snout, Human Heart_ was duly added to her reading pile.

"_A History of Magic_-"

"Doesn't cover anything later than the nineteenth century."

She moved on.

"_Hogwarts: A History_-"

"No need to read it, just ask Aunt Hermione to regurgitate it to you."

It made the pile all the same.

"_Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles_? That sounds amusing," she giggled, and pulled it off the shelf.

"That was my Third Year Muggle Studies textbook," I told her.

It was apparently too alluring a book to pass over, as she added it to her growing pile on the floor.

"_Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_..."

"That's Kreacher's. It's painfully snobbish pureblood stuff; the author would probably cry at the mere thought of a Muggle holding it."

"Doesn't sound all that riveting, I must say," she agreed. "_The Philosophy of the Mundane: Why Muggles Prefer Not to Know_..."

"You'll find it ridiculously patronising, but it might help answer a lot of your questions about why you don't notice things all the same."

"Try _Muggles Who Notice_, as well," Dad contributed.

"Should that be nearby?" I asked.

"The two tend to go together. Lily borrowed it the other month, she might still have it..."

"No, I've found it." I pulled it off the shelf and handed it across to Carlotta. "That one will tell you the story about the Common Welsh Green in Ilfracombe, I think. Anyway, what else do we have? Oh, here we go. _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. It's a must-read."

She frowned, looking at the book.

"It's a load of children's stories..."

"Trust me, you need to read them. Especially _The Tale of the Three Brothers_; that's my favourite."

"I wonder why," Dad said, amused.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Is it not yours?"

"I have a soft spot for _Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump_, myself."

Carlotta stared at him.

"Babbity Rabbitty?"

"Read it," he told her. "You'll love it."

"I'm sure I will..." She didn't sound at all convinced, but she added the book to her pile anyway. "I'm going to need a wheelbarrow to get these home."

"What's a wheelbarrow?" I asked, bemused.

"Surely you learned about those in Muggle Studies?" Dad frowned. "I'll find a bag to put the books in, don't worry."

"How big's the bag?" she asked, assessing the stack of books.

"Oh, don't worry, they'll fit." He grinned. "And I'll charm the covers for you, so they look like Muggle books. Then you can read them at yours instead of having to leave them at James'."

"You can do that?"

"Course I can. Magic knows very few bounds."

"Thank you." She smiled appreciatively at him, then turned back to the bookshelves. "_Unfogging the Future_-"

"Dross," Dad interrupted. "Ignore that whole section, Divination's not worth your while."

"Says the guy whose whole life was set out by a prophecy," I pointed out.

"True Seers may be able to make prophecies, but I still don't buy into all of this palm-reading, crystal-ball-gazing nonsense."

"You guys do that too?" Carlotta was intrigued.

"People try. And trust me, it may seem like it should be a real thing but it's all a total gimmick."

"Dad's a bit cynical when it comes to predicting the future," I informed her.

"You shouldn't meet my mother, then," she told him, "she's a total sucker for that kind of thing. _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_, that sounds interesting-"

I covered the book with my hand before she could remove it from the shelf.

"It's really not," I said hurriedly. "Move on, move on."

"Because _that's_ not the reaction of someone who uses its tips all the time. It's okay, I won't read your sacred book**.**_Weird Wizarding Dilemmas and Their Solutions_? What kind of weird dilemmas?"

"Growing nose hair into ringlets?" I suggested. "Come to think of it, why do you own this book, Dad?"

"Birthday present from Ron and Hermione," he replied.

"Really touching present."

"They ran out of ideas long ago. I don't really _need_ anything, do I? I like novelty presents, they're more fun. Did you know, you can-"

His anecdote was interrupted by a loud, excited squeal from Carlotta.

"What is it?" I turned back to face her, wondering what she'd found – only to find her clutching _Enchantments in Baking_, a look of sheer joy upon her face.

I should have guessed.

* * *

><p>"So, what do you think of James' chances of making the squad?" Freddie asked Dad.<p>

He shifted slightly in his seat.

"I don't know," he confessed. "I'm not sure how forgiving Demelza is. I think a lot of it depends on whether there are any alternatives-"

"Which there aren't," Freddie said promptly. "The only English Chasers playing as well as Jimmy are Roxie and Ruby Ellerby, and neither of them are experienced enough to be picked."

"Ellerby's in a team with Tamsin Robins and Jeremiah McLaggen though, which might count in her favour-" Mum began.

Dad and Freddie both stared at her.

"Whose side are you on?" Dad said incredulously.

"Yes, because you've just firmly called for my reinstatement," I pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

"There's a difference between sitting on the fence and actively promoting the opposition," he defended himself.

"I'm just providing a balanced argument!" Mum protested. "Personally I think James deserves the opportunity, but I don't want to get his hopes up in case things don't work out."

"You won't," I reassured her. "Honestly, I don't think she'll pick me."

"Don't you?" Dad frowned. "Why not?"

"Because ... I just don't think she'll _want_ to. I mean, she dropped me, why is she going to pick me again two months later?"

"Because you've _learned_, you've matured, you've reassessed things. Demelza will know that," Mum reasoned.

"Plus, there's _really_ nobody else," Dad interjected.

"Thanks for the support, Dad, really appreciate it," I said dryly. "Honestly? I just can't see it."

"Who else _is_ there?" Fred insisted.

"Ralph Chambers, at the Wasps-"

"_Chambers_? He's good, but he's nothing special."

"Or Lloyd Ollerton, the Wigtown guy-"

"He's past it, there's no chance they'll pick him."

"Or Tabitha Davies, she's pretty much the Arrows' only good player-"

"Exactly, the rest of the team make her look better than she is! Trust me, James, you're their best option!"

"I can't see them picking just on talent, though. Even if I _am_ the best of the lot, I just can't see them picking me again so soon after I totally screwed up!"

I wasn't sure if I was trying to convince them or myself.

Of course I wanted Demelza to pick me. The thought of being given a second chance so soon was ridiculously tantalising. But I couldn't bring myself to get my hopes up, just for her to pick someone else instead of me. Someone more balanced, more reliable. I really didn't know if I'd pick myself if I were in her shoes.

"Sinead forgave you," Mum reasoned.

"That's different. That was only League level. Besides, she didn't have much of a choice; she couldn't replace me with anyone. Demelza has the whole country to choose from-"

"And you're her best option," Freddie said firmly. "Trust me, Jim, you'll get the call."

I couldn't be bothered to argue with him any more.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I don't own the names of any of the books mentioned in this chapter; they're all JK's creations and have been lifted from canon source material._

_Thanks to everyone who's left me a review; they're all much appreciated. :)_


	51. fifty-one

"There's been some interest in you for a short term deal," Brigid told me the next morning over a mug of coffee. "It's slightly unusual; teams normally wait for agents to announce a player's availability, rather than making the first move. Clearly these clubs really want you."

"Which clubs?" I asked curiously.

"The Harriers, again. And the Vratsa Vultures and the Stuttgart Snidgets."

"The Vultures, huh?" The Bulgarian team were even better than the Harriers, and were hot favourites for the triennial European Cup that would take place next year. The Falcons' league win meant we'd also qualified for that competition, and I was immensely excited about playing against the likes of the Vultures, Snidgets and Harriers. It was amazing to think the Bulgarian team, Stefan's home team, wanted me playing _for_ them for a few months.

"And if you're interested in going outside Europe, then the Warriors and the Thunderers in Australia are both interested, and some Uruguayan and Peruvian clubs have asked about you as well. You've got a few options available to you."

"It would be pretty cool to play for the Vultures," I mused. "But I don't think that's a good idea with the European Cup next year; they'll pick up on my weaknesses."

"Jim, you can go where you _want_ to go, darl, you don't need to think about the Falcons all the time."

"I know." I paused. "I just think ... if I'm going to have some time abroad, I guess I want it to be _properly_ abroad. Not that Europe isn't, of course," I added, "but ... it would be awesome to play in Australia, or _Uruguay_ – they're the best players in the world, and I'd be playing _alongside_ them. Pretty much all European sides play Quidditch the same way, but they go about their game differently in Australia and South America, maybe that would be a more worthwhile experience for me?"

"It's your call." She shrugged. "Just bear in mind that the further away you go, the harder it will be for people to visit you. The only way to travel that kind of distance is with an international Portkey, and the Ministry don't give those out willy-nilly."

"I know, but I'd only be away a few months, just from September through to the end of November-"

"You'd be away for your birthday," she put in quietly.

It was my turn to shrug.

"I've had twenty-one birthdays with friends and family, I'm sure I could sacrifice my twenty-second for my career-"

But I'd miss Carlotta's birthday in November as well.

_Carlotta_.

Shit.

"Is it easier to get Portkeys to Europe?"

"Much easier. International agreements and smaller distances mean there's a lot less paperwork and assessment involved. You could even Floo-jump it if you wanted to, although that's only really worthwhile when travelling across Western Europe. I wouldn't do it right across the continent; it'd take far too long."

Floo-jumping was when someone took a journey by Floo that was too long to do in one hop. Generally people used public fireplaces, such as those at the Leaky Cauldron and the Three Broomsticks, for this. It was one of the reasons wizarding pubs thrived. But Brigid was right; I couldn't imagine Floo-jumping from London to Bulgaria. And Carlotta hadn't even used Floo powder before. It didn't seem an overly viable option.

"Can you give me a bit more time to think about it?" I asked.

"Take as much time as you like, I'm not in any rush," she said. "The only reason you might want to decide sooner rather than later is to make sure the best teams don't pick other players instead. But you could definitely leave it a few weeks."

"I'll do that, then," I said. "Cheers, Brie."

"No problem. That's my job, isn't it?" She smiled. "Oh, we also need to talk about your Falcons contract as well. You've still not extended it, and it finishes at the end of this year! I assume you want to stay there, given you've not told me otherwise?"

"Course I do!"

"I should think so too." Her grin widened. "Not that I'm biased, of course. Now, Mum's pushing to extend it, so you'd be on the same terms you're on now. She's actually given me a copy of it for you to sign. But ... I don't think you should sign right now."

I frowned, my hand already half-way across the table to take the contract.

"Why not?"

"I think you should wait until Demelza Robins decides who to pick. Because..." She took a deep breath. "She's told me you're one of the people she's looking at. If she picks you, your stock will rise _massively_, clubs will be willing to pay a lot to secure your signature. You'd have a lot of bargaining power and could easily get yourself a pay rise."

I frowned again.

"Are you working _against_ your own mother here?"

"When I'm an agent, she's not my mother! I have to look out for my players first and foremost. It's not all niceties in this sport, you know. So, I say we hold back a bit, wait until Demelza makes her mind up. If she doesn't go for you, then you can sign the extension contract. If she _does_ pick you, I'll draw up some more favourable terms-"

"But I don't _want_ more money," I said bluntly.

Now her brow furrowed.

"Are you _sure_, James? I know you like it there, but remember; this is a job, not a hobby-"

"I don't need any more money, though. I'm getting by perfectly fine living within my means at the moment; I already earn a decent packet. I'm not taking money from the Falcons coffers when I don't need to. It can go towards keeping some of our other players – like Stefan, or Roxanne. I'll just sign that extension; I don't care whether or not I'm an England player-"

"You'll have to wait until Demelza makes her decision, because if she picks you we'll need to change a few things even if your pay stays the same. But you definitely want to stay at the Falcons?"

"Of course I do, stop asking silly questions."

Brigid smiled.

"Mum will be happy to hear that."

"Didn't take long for you to become her daughter again," I smirked.

* * *

><p>I almost wished Brigid <em>hadn't<em> told me that I was one of the possibilities to replace Josh Wadcock. I'd been thinking about it enough beforehand, but now there was barely a waking moment when I wasn't wondering if I'd make the squad. I couldn't even escape the topic in my sleep, having dreamed of playing for England for the last two nights.

Luckily, Lily provided a bit of respite mid-week when she asked for help moving her things out of her boarding house at her school. Given that I was hardly busy, I offered up my services – as did Mum, who could work whenever she wanted to these days. I managed to scrounge breakfast at Mum and Dad's that morning, before she drove us down to Lily's school.

"This always seems like so much effort, given that we could just Apparate with all her stuff," I sighed. "In fact, she could probably squeeze it all into the bag Aunt Hermione did the Undetectable Extension Charm on-"

"No, she couldn't, because I didn't let her take it to school," Mum cut in firmly. "It'd be far too risky to leave something like that lying around. And you know why we can't 'just Apparate'; she may be leaving the school but that doesn't mean we can become frivolous about the Statute. Moving her into her flat will be an entirely different story though; I have absolutely no ambitions to drive into London."

"Do you not think that's being frivolous about the Statute?" I grinned cheekily.

"Oh, pipe down," she said, but she smiled all the same. "We just need to make sure we don't pick the same day Maddie moves in. I'm not sure what her family would make of us appearing out of thin air and pulling furniture out of our pockets."

"Yeah, that might not go down too well," I agreed. "When do they get the flat?"

"Beginning of August. Lily should know by then whether she's gotten the Liaison job; she'll know her N.E.W.T results by this time next week."

"When does she get her Muggle grades?"

"Not for another month and a half; how ridiculous is that? Surely they can release the grades earlier than that..." She sighed. "Never mind. The Ministry don't require any Muggle grades at all for the Liaison job, those are just an added bonus for her. So long as she gets the O in Muggle Studies and As in her other four N.E. , she's fine."

I frowned.

"She may as well have just not _bothered_ with the Muggle exams, then-"

"Hardly," Mum said. "What would she do if she didn't get the Liaison job, and didn't have any Muggle qualifications to show for herself? If she gets this job, she'll be _very_ lucky to be working for a wizarding employer. Most Squibs have to settle for living solely in the Muggle world. Actually, it's doing her a disservice to say she's lucky; it's down to one hell of a lot of hard work and ambition on her part."

"I knew what you meant, though," I said. "She's lucky there are jobs within the wizarding world available to her, if she has the right qualifications."

"Precisely." Mum smiled. "The job certainly won't be a walk in the park though; the current Muggle Prime Minister seems particularly anti-wizard."

"Really?" I asked sharply. I didn't often keep up with current affairs.

"Unfortunately so," she sighed. "He's been in power for about a year now. According to Kingsley he was _very_ shocked and scared to find out about us – more than usual. He was fairly quiet or so for about a year, but recently he's been stepping up his agenda slightly. Only little things, of course, it's not as though there's much he _can_ do, but he's trying to be as uncooperative as possible. Which is proving troublesome given that the Ministry needed to get his permission before letting foreign Quidditch players into the country for the World Cup."

"But surely the previous Prime Minister gave that permission when she approved the bid to host it?"

"Yes, but they still had to get the current guy's as well," she explained.

"I don't get how he can be anti-magic, though," I mused, looking out of the window at the countryside that rushed past. "Surely Muggle society's learnt prejudice never brings about good results, just as ours has?"

"Yes, but ... they'll only learn from the prejudices they've already experienced. If that makes sense. In the last hundred years Muggles have seen uprisings and wars caused by religious and racial prejudice. They might have a better attitude towards those minority groups nowadays, but it doesn't automatically stop persecution against _all_ minority groups, unfortunately. There's no reason whatsoever to assume their politicians should accept magic with open arms. It's _fear_, James, fear of the unknown that drives this prejudice. A fear of this entire parallel world that exists alongside theirs, and yet remains completely in the dark. _We_ try to stay out of their way, but they don't know that, do they? All the Prime Minister knows is that he's just been made aware of an entire society that was kept from him his whole life. They fear us as a threat and resent the way we keep ourselves to ourselves instead of offering magical solutions to all their problems. It's the age-old story, and it's exactly why we went into hiding all those years ago. It's not necessarily _us_ he has a problem with; it's the way we hide."

"Well ... what does he _expect_ us to do? Announce ourselves to the world and start being burned at the stake again?" I shook my head incredulously. "Although ... I suppose we _could_ make our medicine available to them, if they knew about us..."

Her expression softened.

"Are you thinking about Carlotta?" she said gently. "Your father told me about her last weekend." She sighed, and squeezed my leg gently. "I wish there was something we could do to help, sweetie, I really do."

"But there _are_ things that would help; things that would ease her symptoms better than their medicine does-"

"But she could only take them if we stopped hiding from the Muggle world," Mum finished. "I know, Jimmy, I know."

"Or if she stopped being treated by Muggles," I added.

"It's a Muggle illness, and she's a Muggle living in the Muggle world. It wouldn't be fair _or_ practical, you know that."

"I just ... I feel _useless_, like I can't help, and it feels so unfair, that we can do so much and yet we can't help her-"

"You _can_ help her. Just because you can't cure her, doesn't mean you can't be there for her in other ways."

"I know, and I've told her that myself, that I _want_ to help her any way I can ... it just sucks a bit when I know she hasn't changed her opinion on how she's going to deal with it, she just backed down because she knew I wouldn't."

"If she didn't want to be with you, she'd have made that very clear. She does, and that's all that matters for now. In time, she'll learn to stop letting other people – or things – dictate her life for her. And you'll be part of the reason for that."

That thought caused me to smile slightly.

Mum slowed down as we reached Lily's school's premises. Her building was on the opposite side of the grounds to the entrance gate, so we had to drive round the lane that ran the perimeter of the school.

"It's weird, to think she's leaving here," Mum said slowly. "I remember her first day here. Poor thing," she added. "She was so cut up about not being able to go to Hogwarts with you and Al and Hugo. And look at her now ... Head Girl, about to work for the government-" She paused. "My only daughter ended up Head Girl, and she's now going to work for the Ministry. Remind me why I'm proud of her?"

I let out a laugh.

"You'd better not say that to her face, she'll think you actually mean it," I suggested.

"Are you kidding? Her reaction to finding out she was Head Girl was to ask if she was really our child. Your father and I weren't even prefects. Al getting his prefect badge was one thing, but Lily basically being given control of the entire student body? Madness."

"To be fair, you don't have to look too far back to find the nearest rule-abiding family members; both sets of grandparents were Head Boy and Girl," I reasoned. "Maybe _we're_ the adopted ones?"

"Well, there is that," she admitted, "although your dad still swears he hasn't a clue how _his_ dad got the badge, given that he was one of the biggest troublemakers around. But I'm well aware my mother was very disappointed I didn't get the prefect's badge. Fred and George not being prefects was more than understandable, but Charlie always was more interested in animals and broomsticks than people and even he was a Prefect. For the first Weasley girl in generations not to get a badge..."

"Was probably for the best, given all the Bat Bogey hexes you cast on people," I finished.

"You've listened to too many of your father's stories; he always does me a disservice."

Lily was waiting for us outside her boarding house, which was a hive of activity; it seemed as though most of her year had decided to leave on the same day.

"I was wondering when you'd get here," she said by way of a greeting. "I was beginning to think I'd need to make a nuisance of myself to save you a space."

"I don't suppose you've made a start on packing, have you?" was Mum's reply.

Lily looked guilty.

"I was kind of hoping you'd do it..."

Mum sighed.

"We'll see," she said.

But we got to the room Lily and Maddie shared to find Maddie's family already there. Lily's face fell slightly; she knew as well as anyone that Mum couldn't magically pack her things in front of the Bennetts. Instead, she'd have to do the job manually. She reluctantly opened a suitcase on her bed and started throwing clothes into it willy-nilly, amidst Mum's remonstrations.

"Lily, if you _folded_ things, you'd fit twice as much in-"

I snickered, and glanced round the room. My eyes fell on the wardrobe, magically enlarged inside to act as our Apparition point for the last two years, and it crossed my mind that we could just dump some of Lily's things in there to collect later. I wordlessly gestured this idea to Mum, who shook her head.

"I need to shrink it back before we leave," she murmured in my ear when she had a chance.

I pulled a face as I realised we'd have to do all this the Muggle way. Still, at least I could pop a cheeky feather-light charm on Lily's cases to make them easier to carry down the stairs.

Seeming to guess what I was thinking, Mum shook her head again.

"Too risky; someone else might pick it up and get suspicious!" she pointed out.

I hated having to pretend to be non-magical.

When Maddie's family left the room to take some of her things downstairs, Maddie quickly darted through the archway into Lily's room, clutching Lily's Quaffle and a few Chocolate Frogs.

"Lil, there's loads of your things in my room, quick, grab them before they come back!"

We all leapt into action, pulling things out of hiding places that Maddie had had to find last-minute.

"Lottie found the washing machine manual, even _that_ got her suspicious! I was so worried they'd find the Frogs, I thought they'd probably be the biggest giveaway; at least I could have a go at trying to explain the Quaffle away, but leaping chocolate goes completely beyond the realms of Muggle possibility."

"Mum, can you pack for me now?" Lily pleaded.

"And what will Maddie's family think if you've gone from barely started to being packed in a matter of minutes-"

"They won't even _notice_, Mum, just do it, please!"

She sighed reluctantly, and drew her wand.

"_Pack_!" she cried, waving her wand in a sweeping motion.

Lily's other cases leapt into action, opening themselves up to receive the clothes, shoes and books that flew into them. Things emerged from drawers, cupboards and under the furniture to settle in a case, the last of which shut with a dull thump just as Robbie returned.

"I nearly bumped into Rosalind!" he hissed, shutting the door behind him.

"Well, that's your fault," Maddie said unsympathetically. "Lils, have you got my hockey boots? I can't see them."

Lily and I looked at each other, then at the cases.

"I'll let you look," I said, falling into her desk chair.

Lily turned round to glare at Mum.

"If you try turning this into an 'I told you so'..."

"Would I?" Mum said innocently.

The offending boots were uncovered in the second case, and Maddie was nearly packed by the time Lily found them. As some of Maddie's things had already gone downstairs, Robbie was free to take one of Lily's cases, which meant we managed to get everything downstairs in one trip. Mum held back slightly under the pretence she'd dropped her lipstick; in reality she was fixing the wardrobe Dad had originally enlarged. I wondered now whether he was supposed to have told the Ministry what he'd done, and whether he actually _had. _I suspected I already knew the answers to both.

"It's going to be weird, leaving here," Lily mused, as she and Maddie stood outside their building for one last time. I knew exactly how they felt, having gone through the same thought process when leaving Hogwarts.

"Now I don't have an excuse to come back here any more," Maddie's sister Lottie sighed, stuffing her hands into her pockets. "Not until we have kids, at any rate."

"Speak for yourself," Maddie replied dryly. "Reckon we need to go and say goodbye to Mr and Mrs A?"

They glanced round at Kit's parents' house, which wasn't far from their boarding house. There was already a throng of people gathered outside it, presumably other students saying their last goodbyes to the teacher who'd marshalled them through their first years.

"It's not exactly as though we won't see them again, is it?" Lily pointed out. "Three weeks' time, when we move into the flat."

"I think they'd still be upset if you didn't say thank you," Lottie reasoned. "Especially given the way they've favoured you over the years."

"They didn't favour us-" Maddie began.

"It's because we're Kit's friends-" Lily added.

"Even so, you had tea and scones round there nearly every Sunday! I think that warrants some kind of thanks, don't you?"

They both shifted slightly.

"Yeah, probably," Lily admitted.

"And I'd like to say a few words to her as well," Mum added, having joined us. "Still, we can wait until the main crowd has gone."

"Fancy a quick game of tennis, Lil, for old times' sake?" Maddie asked. "My racket's loose, we can play as we are-"

"Sounds good." Lily opened the car door and pulled her racket out, as Maddie rounded the car to get to her own.

"I'll umpire," Lottie volunteered, and followed the other two round the building.

Mum and Mrs Bennett headed back into the boarding house to make a cup of tea in the kitchen, and Robbie and I headed round to the tennis courts to watch the girls.

"So, what job has Lily got?" he asked me. "Maddie says it's something to do with the civil service..."

"Yeah, pretty much." I shrugged.

"She's pretty lucky to walk into something like that straight out of school."

"She has the right attributes and qualifications for the job." I shifted slightly from one foot to the other. "Besides, she's not quite got it yet; it depends on how her exam results turn out."

"Maddie said she'd be starting at the beginning of August." He frowned. "The results don't come out until the middle of the month."

"The government gets them earlier," I bluffed, hoping he'd believe it.

Luckily, he seemed to be convinced, as he moved on from that topic.

"Who was the guy she went to the prom with?"

"Friend of mine," I replied quickly. "Why?"

"He seemed to spend a lot of time with Maddie," he commented coolly.

"He did, didn't he?" I frowned, thinking over the night and how much of it Maddie and Cato had spent talking or dancing – quite a lot of it, in fact. "I guess they get on well."

Actually, now I thought of it, they'd gotten on ridiculously well. Just how much time had they spent talking at Quidditch matches, when I'd been preoccupied with Carlotta?

I posed the question to Lily later, after she'd lost a reasonably tight set to Maddie and they'd called it a day.

"Yeah, they talk all the time," she said in an offhand tone. "Don't you remember, you were there the first time they met, after the first match of the season-"

"Yeah, that was the match where Carlotta was acting weird and left early, I was a bit preoccupied with that to be honest." I frowned, trying to recall the conversation I'd joined Mum, Lily, Maddie and Cato in later that March afternoon. "I remember now; he forgot you were a Squib, didn't he?"

"Yeah, and by the time he remembered, Maddie had already spouted off about the match in great detail." She giggled. "The look on his face when he realised that this was a Muggle praising his Dopplebeater ... oh, that was priceless. She thought he'd think her a total freak for knowing so much about the sport, but instead he was pretty impressed. And he's asked for her assessment after every match since. He likes the way she views the game with a different perspective, apparently. You know what she's like; she watches it as a hockey player, she's always trying to mesh the two where she can. So, yeah, they get on well. Which is why he was a good choice as my prom date. She gets on well with Ryan too, obviously, but given that he couldn't make it, Cato was the best option you could've gone for."

"Well, I'm glad you approved of your date." I grinned. "You know, I'm surprised you haven't brought up the whole England thing yet; everyone else I've seen since Sunday has shoehorned it into conversation."

She shrugged.

"I figured you wouldn't want to talk about it," she said simply. "I can only imagine how torturous it must be right now, not knowing if you'll be picked. You don't need everyone asking you about it."

I slung an arm round her shoulders and squeezed tightly.

"Thanks," I said appreciatively, not sure what else to say.

"Of course," she added, with a mischievous grin, "I still think you're a shoo-in for the spot."

I rolled my eyes, but grinned all the same.

* * *

><p>"Do you think pumpkins go with fish?" Carlotta asked the moment she was through the door.<p>

"I – I don't know," I said, bemused.

"No, neither do I. Which is why I'm going to give it a go. Where can I get a pumpkin from?"

"Diagon Alley's the nearest place. Do you want me to pop down and get one?"

"Could – could _I_ go?"

"What, with me? If you want-"

"No, by myself?"

I was slightly taken-aback.

"Well, sure; you can see the Leaky Cauldron now, it shouldn't be a problem. You'll find the place fairly easily, they set up fruit and veg stalls outside the shop. I'm not sure exactly how much it will be, but it shouldn't be more than a few Sickles – here you go." I handed her a few silver coins from my pocket. "Just remember, people greet Potters and Weasleys in the street as though they know us personally, so don't get too alarmed if people recognise you and start talking to you, they don't mean any harm."

"Duly noted," she said with a nod. "Although I'm not _you_, I don't get paranoid every time someone talks to me-"

"Neither do I!" I protested, though mentally I had to concede she had a point. "I just thought I'd prepare you for the scary magical people. If they get too nosey, feel free to tell them to stop prying."

"I'll be _fine_, James," she insisted, with a grin. "Back in a mo!"

It was only once she'd gone I remembered I'd wanted to see her reaction to Diagon Alley when sober, as I wasn't entirely sure how much of it she'd remember from her outing to the Hinky last week. But I couldn't be bothered to chase after her, so I just fell back into the comfy chair in the lounge to wait for her return.

She'd turned up as though it was just a casual visit, and had steered clear of That Subject, but I wasn't an idiot. I knew exactly why she'd chosen today of all days to visit.

It was Friday. The end of the week. Demelza was yet to make an announcement, and England's first game against Nigeria was just ten days away.

Today, surely, would be the day.

I wasn't sure if Carlotta was here so she'd be the first to learn if I _was_ called up, or to console me if I _wasn't_. To be honest, I didn't even mind which it was, except for the fact I was clearly hoping for a call up. Just the thought that she wanted to be here was enough.

It took her a full half hour to get back from Diagon Alley, armed with much more than just a pumpkin.

"I'm guessing I don't have any change, then."

She looked guilty.

"Oh, James, the shop was _amazing_, they had so much _fantastic_ stuff! And the shopkeeper was so friendly, I told him I didn't understand how many Knuts were in a Sickle and he helped me out with the money."

"He probably just wanted to make a good sale." I grinned, and followed her into the kitchen where she set her purchases down on the table. She'd bought not one pumpkin but two, along with a couple of bottles of Butterbeer, some elderflower wine, a packet of Drooble's, some Fizzing Whizbees, a few Peppermint Toads and some self-shuffling playing cards. "Hang on – I only gave you eight Sickles..."

"I might have been gifted a few things," she said sheepishly.

"I'll say!" I examined the bottle of elderflower wine. "This stuff's hardly _cheap_. Did you sweet-talk him or something?"

"No!" she protested. "I think he took pity on me because I'm a Muggle. It would have been patronising if I hadn't got a bottle of wine out of it."

I grinned.

And then my phone rang.


	52. fifty-two

When I got to the Falcons' ground, the first thing I noticed was the extra hoops. Eighteen of them, to be precise. Three more pitches surrounded the original, with changing rooms and small stands to match. The Department of Magical Games and Sports had clearly moved in to build the temporary pitches for the World Cup group to use as soon as the season had finished.

We weren't the only club to be hosting matches. Puddlemere, Appleby Arrows, the Cannons and Wimbourne Wasps also played on large, mostly deserted moors which lent themselves to Quidditch, so their grounds were also being expanded accordingly. Only the Final would take place in the large purpose-built stadium.

I didn't hover to look at the extra pitches though. Instead I headed straight for the small hut, inside which sat three women who between them held my entire Quidditch future in their hands.

Sinead, Brigid and Demelza were waiting for me in Sinead's office, along with Keira. Sinead smiled slightly at me as I joined them, and gestured towards the fifth seat, which I duly sat in.

Keira's smile was equally veiled, and Demelza merely nodded slightly in my direction.

But Brigid was outright beaming at me, an expression which told me exactly what the outcome of the conversation would be, before anybody even opened their mouths.

It was Demelza who spoke.

"As you know, we've unfortunately lost Josh Wadcock from our squad. I had to put a lot of thought into who to replace him with. Going by pure skill and aptitude, I'd have picked you straight away. But I have to consider more than that; I have to consider how well a player will cope mentally, how well he'll link up with the other players, if he'll be able to maintain the standards expected of an international player."

She paused.

"I picked you initially, two months ago, and you disappointed me. I had to drop you. But I said then that I'd be willing to consider you again if you sorted things out. You missed a whole block of matches, a block in which your cousin really proved her worth as a player, and if she had more games underneath her belt I might be sitting here with her right now."

I squirmed slightly in my seat.

"But she doesn't. More importantly, when you did play, you were very impressive. The Cannons match was hardly a challenge, but you impressed me a lot against the Kestrels. You were forced into a role you're not used to and you did a very good job. You performed well against the Bats as well, but given the match permutations, I'm not sure you had much personal pressure on your shoulders.

"But I knew you could do that; that's why I picked you in the first place. No, I'm here now because of your attitude off the pitch. Keira's been updating me regularly on your progress, and she's spoken very highly of your attitude since being reinstated into the Falcons squad. Some players might return to their club just to get another shot at an England call up, but by all accounts you put your club first. I like that kind of attitude in a player. It shows you play for more than just fame or glory.

"Another thing I look for is someone who can _think_ Quidditch. It's all very well being able to throw a Quaffle, or hit a Bludger or catch a Snitch, but at the top level it takes much more than that. I like to see that a player understands all the nuances of the game, and can provide tactical input both before and during a match."

She paused a second time, and allowed herself a slight smile.

"I'll admit to enjoying your tactics last Friday, not least because it was amusing to see Feargus Lynch get knocked off his broom. It wasn't necessarily sporting, but sometimes in sport you have to be brutal. I congratulated Cato and Cleo for the tactic at training on Monday and was very surprised to hear it wasn't their idea, but their Chaser's." Her smile widened. "Thinking outside the box; I like that. I like that a _lot._

"But that's not what impressed me most about your attitude. I was amused to see Keira playing against the Cannons – although I knew it would happen; I knew you had to rest the twins. I didn't necessarily expect to see her playing against the Kestrels though. Incidentally, for what it's worth I'd have let the Bagmans play that one. But if they _had_, you'd have been denied your moment to shine."

She gestured towards Keira, who edged forwards in her seat.

"I heard what you said to Jake when he was nervous about playing against the Kestrels," she said. "I'd noticed his nerves, and was about to talk to him myself when you jumped in. And in the end you did the job far better than I could have."

I remembered noticing her watching me when I'd talked to Jake. It hadn't even crossed my mind that she'd have considered that chat worth taking to Demelza.

"I – I didn't do it because you were there," I said, wanting to articulate that thought. "I just noticed he was a bit freaked out and I wanted to help-"

"Exactly," Keira interrupted with a smile. "You wanted to help another player. That's the attitude that separates a good Quidditch player from a great one. Quidditch is a team game, and more people should remember that."

I didn't know what to say. I glanced round at Sinead, whose own mask had dropped; she was now smiling proudly at me.

"You're head and shoulders above any other candidate on parchment," Demelza continued. "In fact, you're head and shoulders above Josh on your day, which is why you were picked ahead of him. But where he has the edge is his mental strength, not _on_ the pitch but off it. That's why things went wrong for you last time, if I'm right, and that's the thing I can't afford to let happen again. If it weren't for that I'd have been here Monday and you'd have been training with us all week, but this decision was a hard one to make. Sinead and Keira have given me character references and I _think_ you've learned enough not to make the same mistake, but I can't be a hundred per cent certain. But I'm willing to take a chance on you, because by Merlin, you're one of the best Chasers in the damn League. So, do you think you can promise me we won't have a repeat of the incident in Diagon Alley?"

"Yes!" I said straight away. "I mean – I had a few personal issues, which I let get the better of me. But that's all resolved now, and I promise it won't happen again. I know now how much this opportunity means to me, and I swear I won't mess it up, I'll do the best I possibly can."

Demelza smiled.

"The other thing I like about you is that you've had a chance and lost it. It means you actually _appreciate_ playing for England, instead of assuming it's a God-given right. Either that, or you're just not a big-headed oaf. Either way, hopefully you'll be a good example to ... some _other_ members of the squad, naming no names."

I grinned, knowing she was referring to Jeremiah McLaggen.

"I assume you accept my offer to join the squad, then?" she added.

"Yeah." My grin spread from ear to ear. "Yeah, I'd love to."

"Superb! I'll see you on Monday, nine o'clock sharp, at the stadium; that's where we'll be training. And one more thing. If you ever feel you have any problems, remember that it's always best to just _talk_ to someone about it, okay? It doesn't matter who; whether it's me, or Keira, or Sinead, or your mum, that's not important, just so long as you don't bottle things up and let them escalate. Then we won't need to worry about losing you again. Okay?"

"Yeah, and thank you so much for this, it means so much-"

"No, it should be me who's thanking you." She smiled again, this time wryly. "Without you in the squad, our Chaser attack is still damn good, but there's no real spark, no exuberance, no spontaneity. With you, we might just get to the final of this thing."

* * *

><p>A few minutes later I Apparated into my flat, and immediately thought my ears had exploded.<p>

"_James_!" Mum shrieked as she, Lily, Rose and Maddie all threw their arms round me. I stumbled backwards slightly and stared in surprise at the mass of family members who'd gathered in my lounge and apparently brought a few crates of mead with them – I suspected Freddie and Louis had had something to do with that.

"I – what-"

"Brigid tipped us off." Dad grinned. "Well done, Jim, we're all so proud of you."

I turned to look at Brigid, who'd Apparated next to me and was wearing a mischievous grin of her own.

"Surprise?" she said.

"You're a star." I smiled at her.

Freddie had fought his way through the throng of Weasleys and was next to congratulate me once my fan club had dispersed.

"Well done, mate," he said with a beaming smile and a manly handshake. "Make sure to get me a ticket for the final, will you?"

"I think Dad's the one you want to ask about that," I pointed out.

It was Albus who ensured I was well supplied with mead, pressing not one but two bottles into my hands.

"Drink up; you won't get much more opportunity over the next few weeks!" he said cheerily.

"Do you reckon you'll get to play many of the games?" Aunt Angelina asked.

A few hisses echoed round the room, as though it was a taboo for any family member to dare suggest I _wasn't_ a shoo-in for all the matches. But she was right to ask, of course; there were four Chasers in the squad, and I was the least experienced by far. There was no reason to assume I'd be guaranteed a game.

"I haven't a clue," I said frankly. "I think I'd have a chance of playing against Nigeria, if it wasn't the first of England's matches. There's only six training days between now and that match; it might be a bit risky to throw me in-"

"On the contrary; when else are they going to give you your first cap? Against Canada? In a knock-out match? No, I think you'll play," Uncle Charlie said, amidst nods of agreement. "Looks like I'll have to extend my leave, eh? Can't miss you playing for the country!"

I grinned.

"I'd like that."

Carlotta finally made her way to me, and snaked her arms round my waist.

"Pumpkin doesn't go with fish," she said by way of a greeting.

I laughed, and kissed her forehead.

"Duly noted."

The conversation amongst the more Quidditch-minded members of family turned again to the permutations of the groups. Unlike last week, this time I joined in. Now I had a personal interest in the teams England would be playing, the conversation seemed far more interesting.

"Nigeria ought to be a walkover," Lucy was saying. "They're not even in the top thirty!"

"But if we're too complacent, they could spring a surprise," Brigid pointed out. "We _should_ beat them, but we can't assume we will."

"It'll be bloody disappointing if we don't, though," Teddy said. "Same with Spain, to be honest – sorry, Carlotta," he added.

"It's fine." She waved a hand airily.

"Look, we're in the top tier, we're fifth in the world, only one team from each group makes it to the quarters – we've got to be looking towards a bare minimum of winning every game in our group, surely?" Albus reasoned.

"Anything less than the semis will be a disappointment, given the management's aims since the _last_ World Cup," Uncle Charlie said.

Those of us who remembered the last World Cup campaign winced at the thought of it.

"Was it really _that_ bad?" asked Maddie.

"It was dreadful," Dad said gloomily. "It's not as though we if expected to win the Cup, but we were at least expected to get out of the _group_. Thrashed by Australia, a _terrible_ performance against Norway, and we couldn't even redeem ourselves against Georgia; we only scraped _that_ win by catching the Snitch."

"Who _did _win the Cup?" Carlotta asked curiously.

"Uruguay. Beat Russia in the final. Good game, that. Russia shocked Ireland in the semis, and Uruguay steamrollered Bulgaria. Russia have waned a bit since then though; I don't think they'll be as big a threat."

"They'll be lucky to get out of their group, with Australia in it," Freddie added. "They could turn Russia over like they did us."

"Na, Australia aren't as good now either. Russia will win that group," Hugo said. "I can't see there being too many upsets, I think all the tier one teams will qualify for the quarters. Argentina would have had a chance if they hadn't been drawn with Ireland; they won't be able to beat them."

"Germany could beat Egypt," I chipped in. "That's the only upset I can see happening, though."

"Are you in training on Monday?" Rose asked.

"Yup. Nine o'clock sharp. It'll be weird, joining in late..."

"You're all pros, I'm sure the other guys will be fine with it," Freddie shrugged.

"Oh, I'm not worried about their reactions. Cato and Cleo will obviously be fine with me, and I get on with the Woods as well. Although they might be a bit bummed I'm replacing one of their fellow Puddlemere players. No, the only problem would be McLaggen, and I don't pay any attention to him anyway so it'll be fine."

Freddie snorted.

"I can't believe he's playing for England." Albus shook his head incredulously. "Can you remember what he was like to play with for Gryffindor? And that was _before_ he embarked on his bid to play every position possible."

Freddie and Roxanne nodded in agreement.

"You guys only had to put up with him for one year!" I complained. "I had to deal with him for _three_!"

"I had to _captain_ him for three," Teddy interjected sourly. "And trust me, he was just as jumped-up even as a Second Year."

It was Teddy's Chaser spot I'd filled in my Second Year, after he'd left Hogwarts.

"Well that's your fault for picking him," I pointed out.

"He was the best of the lot." He sighed. "Caught the Snitch first every time. And at least when he was playing a position as remote as Seeker, I could have as few dealings with him as possible. The only issue was when he wanted to show off by catching the Snitch within the first ten minutes of a match, when we were aiming to rack up the points. That's why Seekers shouldn't be too arrogant."

"But it's the best position to play if you're not a team player," I summarised. "I've not played Chaser with him before, unless you count the training sessions earlier this year, but I bet he likes to steal the show when he can."

"You can't be a one-man show as a Chaser," Teddy agreed.

"One-_man_?" Mum raised an eyebrow at her _de facto_ godson.

"One-person," he corrected, looking slightly abashed.

"I bet he tries," I said darkly in response to the initial comment.

"Emily Wood and Tamsin Robins wouldn't let him, surely?" Mum said. "That's where you need to be vocal, Jim; don't let him walk over you just because he's older than you and an incumbent. You've had more experience at Chaser than he has, you know what you're talking about."

"Demelza wants me to be an example to him as to how an England player should carry themselves, apparently." I pulled a face.

"And she's got a point," Mum said proudly. "He likes to take all the headlines; you're satisfied with a good _team_ performance. That's what being a Chaser is all about."

"Reckon he'll be trying Beater any time soon?" Roxanne giggled.

"Why do you ask; is your sweepstake guess coming up?" I smirked.

"Na, mine was sometime last year. Yours is round about now, isn't it?"

"I think it was about May sometime, so I've been and gone as well. He's taking remarkably longer than most of us expected, I think."

"What are you on about?" Hugo asked with a frown.

"Sweepstake on when McLaggen will try his hand as a Beater," Roxanne explained. "Most players in the League are in on it, I think. Em Wood started it, of all people. It's like a rite of passage, joining the sweepstake when you join a pro team."

"Does he know about it?"

"Course he doesn't; it'd be pretty pointless if he did, wouldn't it?" I reasoned.

"He's not too popular in the Quidditch circles, is he?" Teddy mused.

"Do you honestly wonder why?" Mum said. "People don't like that kind of an attitude floating round their squads. One of these days he'll get his comeuppance. He's only playing for England because they've got no better options; I can't see that remaining the case for much longer."

"Maybe you could be the catalyst for that, Jim?" Freddie grinned.

Me, being Jeremiah McLaggen's downfall? I liked the sound of that.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Ironically, I'm not a cook at all. In fact, for me beans on toast is impressive. So I'm not sure why I made Carlotta an avid cook - probably because James thinks with his stomach a lot of the time. But this complete failing means I have no idea whether pumpkins DO go with fish or not. If they do, I apologise for being wrong, and please don't tell me I made a mistake. ;)_

_Thanks for all the love and reviews, it's always really appreciated. :)_


	53. fifty-three

_A/N: Apologies for the delay in updates. Real life got in the way a little bit. Hopefully I should be getting back on the wagon in the next few weeks, so updates should become more regular. :)_

* * *

><p>My first day training with England felt a bit like my first day with the Falcons. Actually, in a sense it was more like my first training session with Gryffindor given that the Woods and Jeremiah McLaggen had been in my house team the year I'd joined it. Either way, I was right back to being the junior player in the squad.<p>

Most of the players greeted me with nothing but good will. I'd expected that from Cato and Cleo, of course, and Emily and Michael Wood had always been good sports, but it was a pleasant surprise that the third Beater Gregory Ellis was just as good-natured – he played for Puddlemere alongside Josh Wadcock, and I knew they also got on well off the pitch. I supposed a part of me had expected him to harbour some sort of ill feeling towards me for taking his friend's spot in the squad.

"Hey, it's hardly as though you gave him dragon pox," he reasoned when I mentioned this to him later. "And I doubt you _asked_ for something like this to happen. Besides, he's got a good head on his shoulders, he'll get through it fine. I actually think _he_ felt guilty for gaining by _your_ misfortune in the first place. So it's all come full circle in the end."

"You're not contagious, are you?" I joked.

"Oh yeah, I'm riddled with it. Josh asked me to pass it on to you." He grinned.

Of course, not everyone was pleased to see me. I'd have been surprised – and disappointed – if McLaggen had greeted my call up with anything other than blatant displeasure. But he was in a minority of one, and so I didn't let it bother me.

The first thing Demelza did was hand us all a copy of the World Cup schedule. There was little room for manoeuvre; the three rounds of the group stages were to happen within a three week period. We'd be okay, so long as no match went on longer than a week.

But that shouldn't be too much of a problem. As Mum had told Carlotta, while Quidditch matches _could_ last for days, even _weeks_ on end, in reality this rarely happened, and most matches could be expected to last a few days at most. A match was only likely to go on longer if both Seekers were woefully inept – which was unlikely to occur in the World Cup – or if both teams were aiming for a long match to rack up the points. This happened a lot in a long League with rest periods – we'd done exactly that against the Arrows at the beginning of the season – but with such short turnarounds between matches in the World Cup, teams were unlikely to go for this tactic.

England's first match was against Nigeria, the minnows of the group. Then eight days later, we'd play Spain, followed by Canada six days after that. It seemed just about the best outcome; our opposition would get progressively better, allowing ourselves a bit of leeway at the beginning of the competition.

Not that anyone would say that out loud, especially not in earshot of Demelza.

With eight days until the Nigeria game, this week's training would be devoted primarily to that match, which meant Demelza announced the team before any of us had even gotten off the ground that morning. It wasn't her final decision, she reminded us, just a provisional line-up. If things weren't working out in training, she wouldn't hesitate to make changes.

I should have guessed what was to come from that remark alone. After all, the other three Chasers – Emily, McLaggen and Tamsin Robins – had been playing together for England for the best part of a year by now. There was no reason that attack wouldn't gel against Nigeria, of all teams.

Tamsin wasn't going to play against Nigeria. I was.

"Tam doesn't need the match practice," Demelza told me. "In fact, if anything she needs a break."

"Thanks," Tamsin said dryly.

"You need to get a game under your belt, though. The quicker we do that, the better. It means we won't _quite_ be throwing you in at the deep end if we need to play you in the later stages. Nigeria should be an easy task, especially since you're familiar with how Emily plays even if you've not played with her in a while. You should also be reasonably familiar with how Jeremiah flies, although I realise he's playing in a totally different position _again _to the two he played for Gryffindor. The point is, I'm hoping the familiarity will help. My only slight concern is that Tam's the Chaser you need most practice with because you're totally unfamiliar with her game. But she's good enough to tackle that situation if it arises, so I'm not overly worried. Right now, I just want to see how well you gel with the team as a whole."

Initially, it wasn't too much of a challenge. I was used to playing alongside the Bagmans by now, so they weren't an issue. The first choice Seeker Jessica Birch was a fast and quiet flyer, so she didn't get in anyone's way – in fact, she was _so_ quiet that occasionally _I_ was at risk of getting in _her_ way, which made her fellow Tornado, McLaggen snicker. Tamsin, however, promised to give me some tips on how to sense where Jessica was at any time, while giving McLaggen a scathing look.

In fact gelling with the Chasers, the very people Demelza had hoped I'd slot in easily alongside, proved to be the main trouble. Granted, I'd played alongside Emily before, but that was when I was thirteen and fourteen. She played a similar game to Della, so I'd assumed I'd find it fairly easy to slot into a Chaser attack with her again. The trouble was, when Ryan and I had played with Emily at Hogwarts, she'd been the strongest player physically, and she still possessed that attribute. It meant her game was actually more of a hybrid of Ryan and Della's, which proved a struggle for me to get used to at first.

As training progressed though, I began to focus more on the similarities between my current teammates and my Falcons partners, instead of the differences. Emily got her tricks and flicks from the same book as Della, and used her physicality in a similar way to Ryan. McLaggen, meanwhile, provided all-out strength and, as much as I hated to admit it, was a fairly skilled flyer.

What they lacked was pace, both on a broom and out of the hand. The fast passing wasn't an issue, as that was my own strength. But for as long as I could remember watching them, England had never used pace on a broom as a tactic. It was as though coaches concentrated on nurturing their players' _Quidditch_ skills, and put flying skills on the backburner. That kind of tactic was fine against lesser teams who couldn't compete with England's Quidditch skill, but against the top teams we'd fall short. Ireland had the fastest Chaser unit on show; Ryan was rapid, of course, but so were his Irish teammates Aisling Quigley and Fiona O'Sullivan. And they still demonstrated remarkable skill with the Quaffle.

Demelza had surely realised this, I considered to myself. After all, hadn't she told me I offered something different to her squad? I wasn't the fastest flyer in the Falcons squad, or even the second fastest – that was Roxanne – but I was no slouch, and I was definitely faster than everybody else in the England squad bar the Seekers. Was that why Demelza had picked me? Was she hoping to inject more pace into the English game? It certainly seemed like a good bet to me.

Of course, training wasn't the only thing on the agenda. We were representing our country, which meant any potential success was reliant on the support of the general public. We weren't going to get that purely by being chosen by the management to play in the tournament. For one thing, the _Prophet_ were still firmly against me even though Demelza had picked me a second time. It meant I had a serious public relations exercise to carry out.

So afternoons were dedicated to doing just that. It was frustrating in a sense because I'd much rather have been training, especially as I was just beginning to get the hang of playing with Emily and McLaggen. But I also understood why we had to do it, and besides, when our matches began to get tougher our off-field obligations would give way to more training time, so it wasn't _too_ dreadful a prospect.

Our first afternoon was spent in the children's ward at St Mungo's. It was a bit of a sombre visit at first – after all, there were few ailments that would keep a wizarding child in hospital, so it was sad to see all the bed-bound kids. But they all seemed really excited to see us and have us read to them.

Before long, the kid I was reading to, Bobby, got bored of the story and asked what I liked best about playing Quidditch.

"I like the flying part the best," I told him. "Even if I'm not training, sometimes I'll get my broom out and just go for a fly around the pitch. Do you like flying?"

"I can't fly," he said. "I've never tried, my mum says it's too dangerous."

"How old are you?"

"Eight."

"Never flied – how can you have gotten to the age of eight without having flown?" I cried. Then I had an idea. "Back in a moment, Bobby."

I crossed the ward to the Healer on duty, who happened to be Allegra.

"You got any outdoors space here?" I asked her.

"A little garden, yeah. Why?"

"Are any of these kids well enough to go outside?"

"Some of them are, yes. We take them outside once a day."

"What about flying?"

She looked at me suspiciously.

"James, are you planning to run a flying class in the hospital garden?"

"They're bored stiff! Look at them all!" I gestured round the room. "They were excited to see us, sure, but they're bored of being in bed! They're _kids_, they _must_ be bored."

"But – you can't just take them outside to fly! Some of them don't even know how-"

"Exactly," I said promptly. "So we can teach them. What better place to learn than at a hospital?"

She hesitated slightly.

"I'll have to ask my superiors. And I'm not sure what the parents would say about it. But I'll see what I can do."

Luckily for me, today Allegra's superior was Aunt Audrey, who approved the idea straight away.

So out I headed, with Emily, Michael, Greg Ellis, Jess Birch and the second Keeper Gemma Deans, a few Healers, several brooms we'd borrowed from Diagon Alley, and all the kids deemed well enough to fly and who'd expressed an interest in it. Bobby, to my pleasure, was one of them.

The hour or so outside seemed to race by, and by the end, all the kids had flown successfully. Some of them had clearly flown before and just wanted the opportunity to fly a few laps. The others needed a bit of coaching first, and it was the best sight in the world to see little Bobby flying a lap around the garden, about five feet in the air, with the hugest grin on his face.

"How was training?" Carlotta asked when I got back that evening.

"Really good," I said, still feeling euphoric. "Really, really good."

I didn't even tell her I was going to play against Nigeria. The morning's events had been well and truly forgotten.

* * *

><p>"Nice cheeky bit of positive P.R there, Jim," Brigid said approvingly, slapping a few publications down on the table in front of me. "They all liked your hospital stunt yesterday. At this rate you won't need me to boost your public profile."<p>

"I didn't do it for the public's approval," I complained, pulling the morning's copy of the _Prophet_ closer. "I just thought it would be a nice thing to do for the kids."

"I know." She smiled. "That's why you don't need me to dig up some manufactured 'good deed'; you do it all yourself, out of the goodness of your heart. And everyone liked it. I had the wireless on this morning; they were waxing lyrical about you."

"They're not _all_ happy with me," I observed, skimming through the _Prophet_'s bits on England.

"You _would_ find the one piece in there that's not supportive of you, wouldn't you?" she sighed. "Yes, one of their journalists wrote an idiotic article claiming it was a reckless thing to do and that the parents were up in arms about it, an article that's totally redundant, as the parents they talked to didn't even have any kids who got to fly. But every other piece in there supports you. It's unusual for the paper to allow stories with more than one angle. Clearly they know they can't afford to run bad stories about you, because most of their readership doesn't want to read about naughty, rebellious James Potter any more. Public opinion is _good_, and they feel pressured to go along with it. You're winning the war against them."

"I never waged war against them," I mused, still reading the paper's various columns.

"No, but _they_ waged war against you with that first bad article, after you were dropped. That, and the minor detail of them sacking your mum. Anyway, there's also a lot of speculation about the team for next Tuesday. Some people think you might get a game."

"Well, they're right," I said with a grin.

Brigid squealed excitedly.

"That's great! It's free entry to watch the match, isn't it?"

"I think so," I frowned, trying to remember what I'd read yesterday. "The group matches are all open to everyone in theory, though I think they'll have to regulate the numbers at the bigger matches. Our match against Canada will have to be ticketed, or they'll end up with too many people there. The knockout stages are all ticketed, obviously."

"And you'll be getting us tickets for those, of course."

"If I can, but I've got a lot of people wanting tickets from me – and besides, there's little chance I'll even get to play in those matches if we get there."

"Who says I care about seeing you play? It's the World Cup, I just want to see the games," she said with a cheeky grin.

"What, you want to watch England play?" I raised an eyebrow.

She shrugged. "It's Quidditch. Good teams, good games. I don't care who plays, so long as I get to watch a good game. I'll try to watch all Ireland's matches, obviously. Besides, of course I want to see you playing! This is what you've always dreamed of; I'm not going to miss out on that." She paused. "You nervous?"

I hesitated.

"You know, I don't think I _am_," I said. "But then, I don't think it's properly sunk in yet. I expect I'll be bricking it when the match comes around."

"That's only natural," she reasoned. "But you'll be fine. You always are."

* * *

><p>Brigid's reassurance proved invaluable as the match grew ever closer. My situation became more and more real as training stepped up, as I received my playing robes, and as Demelza announced the team at the end of the week. After that, we were presented to the media at large to do interviews. My stomach clenched at that prospect; this was hardly my forte. Luckily, Tamsin had taken me to one side and given me some much-needed advice on how to handle the journalists.<p>

"If any of them ask you a question you don't want to answer, just say 'no comment' and move on," she instructed. "Stay calm, don't rise to anything. Don't give them any unwanted headlines. Remember, they're interviewing you as a Quidditch player, and so you have the right to avoid any non-Quidditch-related question you feel uncomfortable answering. They can't force you to talk about anything you don't want to talk about. Control the situation; don't let them dictate how the interview goes."

It was helpful advice, but I was still nervous as we headed across to the group of waiting journalists, British and international alike. What if I slipped up, or snapped?

In the end, the interviews all went fine. The first one was my worst; once I'd gotten that out of the way, the others were harmless in comparison. After all, nobody quite competed with my mother when it came to interview technique.

I modelled my robes for her and Carlotta that evening.

"The light, it blinds!" Carlotta cried in a mocking tone, raising her hand to her eyes.

"They _are_ a bit bright white, aren't they?" I admitted, looking down at myself.

"They won't stay that way for long," Mum said. "Oh, my baby..." She held a hand to her heart. "I can't believe you're going to be playing for _England_!"

"Try not to get too emotional, it's just Nigeria," I grinned.

"It's more than _just_ Nigeria, you know that! It's a World Cup match! Besides, this is just the beginning. Just think; you could be playing in the final in a few weeks!"

"Don't get your hopes up," I said with a raised eyebrow. "Even if we get there, I highly doubt I'll be playing."

"You never know," she reminded me. "Be prepared for all eventualities."

"I've booked the day off work to come and watch," Carlotta said, "so you'll have to make sure the game doesn't go into Wednesday or I'll have to miss the end."

"Shouldn't you be saving that day to take off the week after?" I cocked my head slightly. "I thought you'd want to watch England play Spain."

She shrugged.

"I'd rather watch you play, and you said yourself you don't know whether you'll get any more matches. Besides, this is your debut, I'm not missing that. If you play any more weekday matches, I'll just have to try to wangle time off, maybe rearrange my shifts."

I smiled, touched.

"I'd like it if you were there..." I began.

"Well that's all very well, because you don't have a say in the matter," she replied with a smile of her own.

My grin widened, as I turned to look at my reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece. It was a reflection that I could hardly believe. Here I was, standing in the robes of the English international Quidditch squad. It was a dream I'd harboured for years, one I'd expected to have to wait a few years longer to experience after I'd dispensed with my first chance so thoroughly. And now, Demelza was giving me a second chance...

I wasn't going to mess it up. Not this time.

* * *

><p>On the morning of the game itself, I felt sick with nerves like never before. This was <em>England<em>. It felt as though the whole world was watching. What if I did something wrong? What if we _lost_, because of me?

Carlotta, Mum, Dad, Albus, Lily and Freddie all tried in turn to calm me down, but nothing worked. An iron fist had taken hold of my gut, and just wouldn't stop squeezing. My flat felt suffocating, so I headed to the ground early – today, to Uncle Ron's delight, we were playing at the Cannons' ground.

But even there I gained no respite. People were already milling around the pitches, most of them here for the England match. I retreated into the changing rooms to escape the attention, but it felt just as bad in there, confined by these four walls.

In just over an hour, I'd be kicking off from the ground for the start of the match. Time was passing far too fast, when all I wanted it to do was _stop_. I buried my head in my shaking hands, trying to calm my breathing down.

A cool hand fell on my shoulder.

"Relax, Junior," Emily said calmly – she and the rest of the squad had picked up my Falcons nickname from the Bagmans, and given my standing in the squad, it seemed appropriate. "You're letting yourself think too much."

"What if I screw up?" I whispered to my knees.

"Then we'll have to fix whatever happens on the pitch," she said pragmatically. "But that's the point; mistakes can be fixed. Besides, who's to say you'll screw up anyway?"

"Who's to say I _won't_?"

"I don't think you will. Not badly enough to lose the match, anyway. I'll be realistic here; yes, you might slip up. But then, so might I."

I snorted, sitting up.

"Yeah, sure-"

"Well, if I can be invincible, why can't you?" she said simply.

"Because you're Emily Wood. You don't make mistakes," I said dully.

"Oh, I do. Don't you remember what happened in my first match for England?"

I frowned. "No-"

"I dropped the Quaffle, then fell off my broom trying to recover it. Trust me, I make mistakes. I'm only human, just like everyone else. And I get nervous before matches too."

"You don't look it," I observed.

"That's because I've learned how to harness the nerves. You do the same, don't you, for Falcons matches?"

"Yes, but this is different-"

"How is it different? You're on a broom, playing Quidditch with six teammates, against seven other people, all of whom are just human and, in this instance, not as good as you. Don't think of it as being England. Just think of it as being another Quidditch match. Think about it as though you're playing for the Falcons, or Gryffindor."

The advice was startlingly similar to what I'd given Jake only a few weeks ago, before his big Falcons match. He'd done alright in the end, hadn't he? In fact, he'd done _more_ than alright; he'd played out of his skin.

I sat up on the bench.

Maybe I _could_ do the same?

* * *

><p>I told myself to ignore the large crowd as we flew out onto the pitch, forced myself to shut out everything except the people that mattered. It was a tactic I'd employed against the Pride of Portree when outside influences had threatened to overwhelm me, and it seemed the thing to do here as well. It meant I didn't even let myself look for my family and friends in the stand. I could see them after the match.<p>

Hopefully, after we'd won.

The plan was to score as many goals as possible, but wrap the game up within six hours. Demelza didn't want us to burn out too soon, not with two games to come in relatively quick succession. Although it seemed I wasn't the only one who considered six hours more than long enough for a Quidditch match, judging by the expressions on McLaggen and Cleo's faces. I'd not played in a match that long for about a year; it would take a lot of endurance. Still, at least we had a day off afterwards to recover.

"Remember, their Keeper tends to sidle off to his right," Emily reminded me and McLaggen just before the match began. "That means his left hoop – our right – should be left unguarded. Their Chasers are far less physical than we are, so be rough if you have to."

In World Cup Quidditch, there was no love lost.

The nerves began to rekindle as we lined up opposite the Nigerian players. After all, I was lining up in _England_ colours. The whole world would be watching. I was on the highest possible pedestal; my nerves were inevitable. But they weren't crippling nerves like those which had swamped me earlier. These were – not _good_ nerves, per se, but nerves I could channel into my performance. I was nervous because I wanted to play well. Right now, I truly thought I could.

The referee released the balls, threw the Quaffle into the air, and blew his whistle. With that, the game – and my England career – began.

Emily was right; their Chasers were far less physical than we were. She won possession of the Quaffle easily, and flew clear of her opposition in an instant.

It was partly that physicality that let us ahead fairly quickly on the scoreboard. Emily and McLaggen were both far too strong and the Nigerian Chasers were unable to secure the Quaffle from them. And once they'd secured it, and gotten it out to me, I was far too fast for them to keep up. Our tactic had the satisfying result that I'd scored most of our goals.

"An hour gone," Emily said, after we'd scored our twentieth and gathered into a six-person team huddle. "I don't know why Demelza thinks we need six hours, against these guys we only need a couple more hours to score enough goals to be comfortable. You guys reckon we should play for the five hundred point lead, then call it quits?"

"I'm good with that," said Michael, who was captain. "Can one of you Chasers relay the message to Jess?"

"Will do." Emily glanced round the pitch for our Seeker. "Good work, guys. Keep it up."

With that, we disbanded.

Playing alongside Emily and McLaggen was enjoyable, I reflected as I waited for the latter to win the Quaffle at the restart. Different, but interesting. It was fun to be the quick one for once, though I missed the more technical plays which Ryan, Della and I tried out for the Falcons. Then again, we'd had three seasons to perfect those. I'd only been playing with these guys for a week.

The only irritating thing was McLaggen's tendency to try to score himself, instead of passing to me when I had a clear shot at the hoops. He'd given away a couple of goal-scoring opportunities, which I could tell irritated Emily. Truth be told, it irritated me too, but I knew I couldn't let that show on the pitch. It could wait until after the match, when we were behind closed doors.

After about two and a half hours, we achieved our five hundred point lead and Jess's tactics visibly changed. Before, she'd been looking for the Snitch almost lazily, as though she knew her Nigerian counterpart wouldn't find it, or at least if he did, she'd be able to get to it first. Now, she sat up on her broom, as alert as I'd ever seen her. Ten minutes later, she'd made the capture and sealed our first win.

As we flew to the centre of the pitch, we felt calmly triumphant rather than jubilant. We all knew that, although it had been a good performance, it was the easiest task we had facing us. We couldn't afford to get complacent.

Demelza met us in the middle of the pitch as we descended to the ground.

"That was a short six hours," she said dryly.

"That was my call," Michael spoke up. "We figured we didn't need to play for a full six."

She nodded approvingly.

"Fair enough. Good work, team. Debrief in five."

Now the match was over, I allowed myself to soak up the atmosphere. As if someone had flicked a switch in my head, I heard the cheers of the crowd for the first time. I'd just played for _England_. I grinned and headed over to a particularly orange area of the stand, remembering again why I found it handy being in a family of gingers.

Most of the Falcons squad joined the Weasley party, including Ryan, Della and Klaus who'd played yesterday when Ireland had thrashed Samoa and Germany had faced a surprisingly tough task against Wales. They'd pulled through in the end, thanks in no small part to Klaus's timely Snitch capture. Stefan was the only absent player, as he was playing for Bulgaria on Thursday. Alfie had brought his niece along with him. It was nice to see them all and their presence reassured me more than anything else. They were just as much a part of my family as my actual relatives, so it was nice to know I had their support.

"You screwed up a bit after the twenty-eighth goal," Della told me. "You passed to Wood when she was marked; you should have passed the other way, to McLaggen."

"And you favoured your right side too much; you won't get away with that against better teams," Ryan added.

And it was always nice to get constructive criticism from them as well.

I pulled a face at them.

"'Congratulations, James, for winning your first cap'..." I said, but I was grinning all the same.

Della laughed, and ruffled my hair.

"Yeah, that one. Nice work, Potter, I knew you'd get here sooner rather than later. Think you'll play against Spain?"

"No idea," I said frankly.

And to be honest, I didn't want to think about it. I didn't _care_ about it. Right now, I just wanted to remain in the present and soak up everything that had just happened.


	54. fifty-four

Mum and Dad took us out for dinner at the end of my first week as an England player. It was a joint celebration as Lily's N.E.W.T results had arrived the same week. We joked to Albus that he was gate crashing the event, as he had nothing of his own to celebrate.

"I'll have you know I received personal congratulations from the Minister for Magic himself this week for a report I submitted," he said triumphantly, while grinning all the same.

Lily snorted into her drink.

She'd aced her Muggle Studies exam with two-hundred-and-seventy-three per cent, picking up the O grade she'd needed with ease. She'd also done well in her other four subjects; an O in History of Magic, an E in Arithmancy and As in Potions and Herbology. The latter two were technically only half-grades, as they had a practical element she hadn't been able to do. Not that she cared about that, and neither did the Ministry. Although the job she'd now officially been offered normally required five N.E.W.T.s, her extensive experience with the Muggle world outweighed that.

"How do you think you've done with the muggle exams?" Albus asked her over dinner.

She shrugged.

"Much the same as the N.E. , I think; better at history and maths than the sciences. But I should have passed them all, which is all that matters at the moment. Mind you, I had a _terrible_ five minutes in my history exam. I had a question on migration to North America, and I started writing about potioneers heading over the Atlantic for their horned toads and how _that_ sparked the migration flurry, and then suddenly remembered this was my _Muggle_ exam and I was about to break the Statute. So I had to scribble my writing out completely and start again, which lost me a bit of time. Of all the times to forget which version of history I was meant to be writing about..." She shook her head. "But it was fine in the end."

"I didn't realise wizards migrated across to North America when settlers were first moving across." Carlotta sounded intrigued. Mum had insisted I bring her along to the family dinner, and I hadn't complained a jot.

"Course they did; how else do you think magic got there?" Lily smiled slightly. "Well, that's slightly misleading; there are magical people in absolutely every community in the world including the Native Americans, so magic was always _there_. But even so, it's not possible for a whole magical community the size of the one in North America to have come into existence without the influx of witches and wizards from Europe. Not in the space of four hundred years or so. There were wizards on the first ships to the continent – this was before the Statute of Secrecy came into force at the end of the sixteen hundreds. Those wizards discovered creatures there with magical properties and which could be used for things like potions, so they were a big part of the reason people wanted to colonise North America. Of course, that part of history isn't known amongst Muggles these days because of the Statute."

"Wow." Carlotta looked enthralled by the conversation – as she was every time she learned something new about the wizarding world, to be fair. "I still can't imagine how the wizarding world could have gone into hiding overnight. I mean, how do you suddenly hide your whole community from existence? It's not as though the Muggles of the time would just _forget_ about magic, is it?"

"Well, that's the thing," Lily said with an ironic smile, "they did just that. Albeit with the help of a few Memory Charms. Besides, even in those days, the two communities weren't totally open with each other. They _used_ to be, back in the early middle ages, but by the seventeenth century there'd been so much persecution of magic that we'd withdrawn anyway. And of course the records of the time were nowhere near as thorough and accessible as they are these days, so there wasn't a huge mass of Muggle documentation that needed to be found and destroyed. And not everything _was_ destroyed thoroughly, when you think about it – after all, one of my Muggle history projects this year was witch burning. And the stories of Merlin still exist too."

"But that's the point; they're _stories_," Carlotta reasoned. "We know the witch burning happened, but the general consensus is that the people burned didn't _actually_ have magic."

"Which makes it easier for us to hide," Lily agreed. "People consider them myths and legends, not things that _actually_ happened. Of course, it'd be impossible to implement something like the Statute today. Globalisation and technological advances mean you couldn't possibly just pull the wool over the world's eyes overnight, especially with instant communication. Back in the seventeenth century it would take days or weeks to deliver a message across the country, whereas these days it's possible to communicate with someone on the opposite side of the _world_ in seconds. Just _staying _hidden is hard enough now. The divide between Muggle and wizarding worlds is becoming thinner and thinner, a combination of more Muggles marrying into wizarding families, and globalisation making the whole world smaller. The last war with Voldemort left its mark on the Muggle world, and it makes it interesting to learn about modern Muggle history and to spot the moments where the wizarding world had an influence. But that also makes it difficult to not throw references to magical history into a Muggle history exam," she added dryly.

"You should teach History of Magic at Hogwarts, Lil; you make it all sound far more exciting than Binns does," I commented.

"Any history teacher who dispenses with myth and legend in the way he does isn't worthy of being a history teacher," she said disparagingly. "I can't quite believe he's still allowed to teach, quite frankly."

"I don't think McGonagall has much of a say in the matter, to be honest. I don't think she _can_ get rid of him."

"Course she can; she just doesn't want to try. She doesn't want to look rude. But really, he puts far too much emphasis on goblin riots and nothing else. Don't get me wrong, the riots are interesting to learn about, but not on their own."

Dad snorted.

"Don't I just agree with you on that one," he said darkly.

"That was the O.W.L you fell asleep in, wasn't it?" I grinned.

A dark shadow seemed to flicker in his eyes for a moment and I immediately regretted by comment. I knew that dream had become the fake vision that prompted his trip to the Ministry of Magic, which in turn led to his godfather Sirius' death amongst other things. Although a lot of time had passed by since, he still didn't enjoy the reminders.

But the shadow quickly passed.

"It was. Can you quite believe I only got a D in that exam in the end?" He shook his head in mock disbelief.

"History of Magic is one of the subjects with the lowest pass rate at Hogwarts," Lily said. "It's farcical, especially considering the importance of learning about the conflict with Voldemort at the _very _least. I think a lot of people would benefit by learning how to treat creatures like house elves and goblins too, and that's best done by learning about their history."

"Now you're beginning to sound like your Aunt Hermione," Dad said in a warning tone, but he was smiling. We all enjoyed teasing Aunt Hermione for her stance on things like house elves, but we loved her for it all the same, and besides she was completely right in what she stood for.

"Honestly, what with James' view on how to teach Quidditch at school, and now you trying to reform History of Magic, Minerva McGonagall and the school governors should watch out," Mum teased. "Anything you'd like to add, Al?"

"Well, they could teach Potions somewhere warmer than in the dungeons," he said, grinning. "But I know I'd rather have had Lily's tutor teaching me History of Magic than Binns."

"Thaddeus would actually be an ideal candidate," Lily agreed. "But I think he does a fantastic job doing independent teaching, and he was invaluable for me when we first found out I was a Squib. I wouldn't want other Squibs to miss out on having his support."

Thaddeus Ketteridge was a Squib himself. His job was basically to integrate other Squibs into the Muggle world. He'd brought Lily up to speed with everything she needed to know in order to slot into a Muggle secondary school without drawing attention to herself, including teaching her what most Muggles learned at primary school. While we obviously knew how to read and write and do basic arithmetic, we knew next to nothing about Muggle history, geography or science, things that Lily had to learn in order to continue with Muggle education. Thaddeus had also taught her a lot of her wizarding syllabus during weekends and holidays, once she'd decided at thirteen that she wanted to do her O. .

"I still find his name ironic," Dad said with a grin of his own.

"I know," Lily giggled in agreement. "Of all the people to be given the same name as the guy who turned his Squib sons into hedgehogs..."

"What?" Carlotta asked, frowning.

"Thaddeus Thurkell. Seventeenth century wizard. Had seven sons, all Squibs, and turned them all into hedgehogs. A truly lovely man."

"His _own children_?" she said incredulously.

"There's a lot of stigma attached to being a Squib, unfortunately." Lily shrugged. "All totally unfair, of course. If only every Squib had understanding parents and access to someone like Thad, who makes the whole process so much easier and emphasises how you _can_ get by in both worlds at the same time, there'd be a much better attitude towards them. Luckily things have improved recently, but it's still a far from perfect situation. The Ministry offers basically _no_ support to Squibs and their families; I mean, most Squibs only find out they don't have magic when they don't get a Hogwarts letter at eleven! How wrong is that? Of course, the lack of evidence of magic as a child is always an indicator that perhaps a child is a Squib, but it's no guarantee."

"You really _are_ sounding like Hermione," Dad mused. "Maybe you should change that?"

"_Me_?" Lily said scornfully. "A Muggle Liaison in the Minister's Office? Yeah, cause _that'll_ fly."

"Exactly. The _Minister's Office_. You have influence at the highest level. Besides, you're the best known Squib in the country and Thaddeus is the most successful; I'm sure that between you, the two of you could pull something off."

"And I'm sure having the backing of Harry Potter would add to your cause," Albus added slyly.

"I wasn't going to say that," Dad said sheepishly. "But of course I'd back it in a heartbeat. And Kingsley's fair, he'd implement some sort of support for Squibs if the suggestion was put to him."

"I think it's a good idea," I volunteered. "You'd get more people backing you than just Dad, as well. I reckon it's got legs."

"Wouldn't it seem a bit ... well, _pretentious_, coming from me?" Lily hesitated. "I've only just been given this job; I've not even started it yet. And already I'm trying to campaign for my own employer to introduce some sort of Squib foundation?"

"I don't think so," Mum reasoned. "I think it looks like two successful Squibs coming together and creating something that aims to give every Squib the same opportunities you had, as standard. I think it's a fantastic idea, and it's about time someone took responsibility for ensuring Squibs have the support they need. And if you need someone to push promotion, I'm sure I could write an article or two about it."

Lily smiled slightly. Our encouragement seemed to have worked.

"Alright," she said. "I'll do it."

* * *

><p>Back in training, Demelza opted for a slightly different technique when it came to choosing her team to play Spain. She let us choose for her.<p>

Jessica and the other Seeker, Archibald, both agreed he should play instead of her. Michael Wood was the captain, so there was no chance of Gemma Deans playing ahead of him. Gregory Ellis, the third Beater, pointed out that splitting the Bagmans up made them and thus the whole team weaker, so there really was no point in him playing instead of one of them – an admirable stance to take, and one that made me wish for his sake that there was room in the squad for a fourth Beater, so he had more chance of getting a game.

Then it was our turn to decide who should sit out.

Emily and Tamsin both volunteered not to play. McLaggen, of course, said that he felt he should.

"I don't mind," I said with a shrug, not wanting to demand a game when I'd only just made my debut. "Whatever's best for the team."

"You need more experience at this level," Tamsin said straight away, and Emily nodded in agreement. "You're _definitely_ playing. It's a case of which of us three sits out."

"You should play, Tam, given that you didn't play against Nigeria," Emily insisted. "And James still needs more practice with you and Jeremiah. You three take this game, I don't _need_ to play it."

"That's what I was thinking," Demelza admitted. "I just wanted to see if you guys thought the same. We're all good, then? Tamsin, Jeremiah, James, you're playing this one."

I couldn't stop the grin from spreading across my face at the prospect of a second game in a row for England. And against _Spain_ as well. I wasn't sure if Carlotta would be happy or torn at the news.

Of course, Spain would be a tougher task than Nigeria. And on top of that, I'd never played with Tamsin before. Admittedly I _had_ played a couple of games against her, when the Falcons had played the Tornados, so that, combined with what I'd seen of her in training, meant I wasn't totally clueless as to the way she played. But we were still incredibly unfamiliar with each other's game, and we only had a few days to overcome this.

Luckily, this kind of situation didn't faze Tamsin, who'd been playing professionally for an incredible twenty years. That kind of longevity in itself wasn't completely surprising, but for her to still be one of the best Chasers for her country _was_ impressive. Few players were still playing international Quidditch after twenty years in the game.

Despite this, training was an absolute mess for the first day or so after the team had been picked. Previously, when I'd played alongside a new teammate, I tried to draw on similarities, comparing their play to that of someone I was used to playing with.

But I just couldn't do that with Tamsin. She played so differently to any other Chaser I'd come across that it was impossible to work on comparisons, and I was forced to just get on with it and try to adapt my game to gel with hers. It had to be that way _because_ of the way she played; she created and orchestrated absolutely every play, whether she had the Quaffle or not, and as a result the game had to revolve primarily around her style of play, otherwise her very strengths would be completely nullified right from the off.

Luckily for me, I didn't have a particular style of play. While the role I'd adopted for the Falcons wasn't too different from how I'd played back at Hogwarts, it was based more on me slotting in with the existing players, and using my flying and passing skills in accordance with the overall game plan. I was flexible, and so in theory I could remain fairly comfortable with changing Chaser partners.

Not that this meant I _could_ adapt, not quickly at any rate. It was still incredibly hard to force myself to play differently to how I usually did. The added irritation was that Tamsin and McLaggen were used to playing alongside each other for the Tornados, and McLaggen seemed to expect me to fill the role of their third Chaser at Tutshill, little Ruby Ellerby. It was a stupid assumption, and one that angered me, as I was much bigger and faster than she was; there was no way I was going to be able to adopt her style of play when we were so different.

Tamsin realised this was the case, however, and was on my side. She seemed just as keen as Emily to use my speed to finish off moves.

"But I don't want to disregard you at any other moment on the pitch, because that's just ridiculous," she added. "And actually, that's one criticism I'd give of the way you guys played last week. It was okay against Nigeria to play a basic game – use strength to get clear of the opposition, then let you streak away with the Quaffle – but it's too one-dimensional a tactic to use against better opposition, and it won't work. You were wasted, even if you _did_ score the most goals. Whichever way Demelza _does_ go for the bigger games, I don't think playing you three all together works, and I'm _not_ just saying that because I want to get games."

I nodded in agreement, appreciative of the fact she at least wanted to use the talent I _did_ have, in the way I best knew how, rather than to try to mould me into a player that I wasn't. So we stayed behind at training one night, along with Emily who'd offered her help, and worked on adapting Tamsin's best plays in accordance with my pace. After a couple of hours, I was feeling much more confident about being able to play what was a slight variation of the game I was used to.

All the same, I still felt that Tamsin seemed unconvinced by something. I just hoped it wasn't _me_.

* * *

><p>"Make sure you don't cry too much when we beat Spain," I teased Carlotta the night before the match.<p>

"Oh, shut up." She rolled her eyes. "Of _course_ I'll be supporting you. Just because my mother's Spanish doesn't mean I support them over my own country."

"You should have pride in your heritage."

"I do, it just comes second to my pride in my birthplace. And in you," she added as an afterthought.

I smirked.

"You're proud of me, huh?"

"Only a little bit. You've only got one cap, let's not exaggerate things here." She shot me a cheeky wink. "Hey, Ireland and Germany both played today, didn't they? I wonder how those games went."

"I can tell you, as I watched the end of Della's match," I volunteered. "They both won fairly easily. There was a bit of a surprise in Germany's group though; Wales beat Egypt."

"_Really_? I thought Egypt were the best team in that group."

"They are, in theory. But Wales have found some form from somewhere. They put up a fight against Germany last week. But this means that if Germany beat Egypt next week, they could make it out of the group. Obviously it's more complicated than that because if Wales romp South Africa they could sneak through, but a win would be a good start for Germany."

"When's that match being played?" she asked. "That would be an interesting one to watch, if it doesn't clash with England."

"No, it won't clash – at least, the start won't. They play Monday and England's game is on Tuesday. But Ireland's last game is also on Monday; they're playing Argentina in a straight shoot-out for the quarters. Hopefully Demelza lets us out of training early so I can catch a bit of one of them – actually, I hope they're both being played at the same place so I don't _have_ to choose which to watch. I'm not sure which I'd go for – wait." I frowned. "Next Monday ... is that the third of August?"

"Yeah, why?"

"That's Brigid's birthday. I'd probably have to pick Ireland in that case, to see her. Shoot, that means I've only got six days to get her a present. This is the trouble with her birthday; I can't rely on her to get a present for me."

Carlotta laughed.

"You'd better not rely on her to buy the present for _my_ birthday; that _won't_ end well."

I pulled a face.

"I don't like the sound of that. Don't you worry, I'll remember." I paused, thinking. "I should probably remind Freddie about Brie's birthday – although actually, knowing him he won't need reminding. He could do with getting her something _really_ nice this time round, given what he's put her through recently. The bloody idiot." I shook my head in exasperation.

"You can't scold him; you're not much better," she pointed out. "He just needs a little nudge, something to push him in the right direction-"

"But that nudge won't work from anyone except Brie herself. Trust me, I've tried, Roxanne's tried, he just won't react to it. He'll only react if it's _her_, but-"

"Right now she's too mad at him to do anything, and besides why should _she_ be the one to initiate things after all he's done?" Carlotta summed up. "He seems to have taken _some_ of what he's been told on board, though. I mean, he seems much more mellow recently. I don't know if you noticed, but he barely drank when we were out after the last League match, and the only girls he talked to were family members. Do you think he's trying to show her he's changed?"

I considered that idea for a moment.

"I don't think so," I said slowly. "If he was trying to do that, then I think he'd try to make it clearer to _her_, and he'd actually be doing something about it. I expect it's more of a subconscious thing; you know, he doesn't realise he's doing it, but because he's thinking about her more, he's acting more how she'd like him to. That seems to be the way he generally works."

"Do you think they'll ever get together?" she asked.

"I don't know," I shrugged. "Brigid's still too pr-" I halted for a moment, remembering what Roxanne had told me. It _wasn't_ pride that kept Brigid away, because she was more sensible than to put her pride before her happiness. Hers was the natural reaction of someone who'd been hurt – and actually, now I thought about it, she was probably scared of getting hurt even more. I voiced those thoughts out loud. "You probably know the answer to your question better than I do, because you'll know how Brigid's mind works better than I do."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Why? Because we're both emotional females?"

"No, because I'm a simple male, too simple to understand the complex workings of a woman's mind," I replied with a grin.

"Right answer, Potter. And don't you forget it."

* * *

><p>It seemed that the nerves before the Nigeria match had been mostly due to it being my first match for England. On the morning of the Spain match, I wasn't anywhere near as nervous, despite the opposition being theoretically tougher. It wasn't that I'd settled into being an England player – far from that; this was still only my <em>second<em> match, and this one wouldn't test my skill much more than the first. But the notion of playing for my country wasn't quite as daunting as it had been. As it had always been my wildest dream, those moments before my first match had been _terrifying_, as I realised it was about to come true. Now, of course, it had.

Not that it meant the dream was by any means over. Of course my ambition had always involved playing more than one game; I wanted to get as much out of my career as I possibly could. But it meant I'd set things in motion, I'd gotten myself to the top table of Quidditch. Now I was there, all I had to do was stay there. It would obviously be hard, but if I'd gotten there in the first place, there was no reason to believe I _couldn't_ stay there.

My performance today would play a large part in that, but I was feeling much better about it now I'd cracked playing alongside Tamsin.

As this wasn't my first match, I'd expected less of my family to show up, but I'd been wrong; there they all were again in the stands, along with my Falcons teammates. Stefan was absent again as his match was later in the week, but everyone else was there.

Actually, now I looked closer, the group was even bigger than last week's. Maddie and Kit were there, of course, as they'd been last week, but so were Scorpius Malfoy and Hugo's friend,Alice, one of Neville's children. The rest of the Longbottom family were also in the stand, and when I looked again, I saw Allegra Fawcett and a few of her Ravenclaw friends on the edge of my large fan club, chatting with Albus. The three Irish girls – Aisling Quigley and Fiona O'Sullivan of the Bats, and Brianna Kiely of the Kestrels, were sitting with Ryan and Brigid. I smiled slightly at this. I knew some of them were possibly here more for the match than just to support me, but even so it was nice to see them, to know the support was there.

We took our positions opposite the Spanish players and waited for the match to begin. My personal opponent was from the all-women Barcelona Banshees. She looked slight, but I didn't let that lull me into a false sense of security. Her size meant she was most likely quick on her broom. There was, after all, a reason she was the one I'd be marking. Demelza had done her research on our opponents very thoroughly.

The whistle blew, and we were off. McLaggen caught the Quaffle almost straight away, and lobbed it straight up to Tamsin's awaiting arms. It was a textbook take, pulled straight from their Tornados training sessions. But that was where the comparisons ended. From now on, it was new ground for all three of us.

And we didn't get off to a good start; Tamsin passed back to McLaggen but his pass to me was intercepted by my opponent. I cursed under my breath, spinning on the spot and heading after her to try to recover the situation. I caught a glimpse of Tamsin's face; she looked irked. I just hoped her frustration was aimed at McLaggen, not me. His pass wasn't the best I'd ever seen on a Quidditch pitch but if I'd been more alert I could have outwitted my Banshee opposition.

At the hoops, Michael Wood saved the attempted goal with ease. He delayed his pass back to Tamsin just long enough for the three of us to re-gather, the look on his face telling us we needed to bump our game up a good few notches. Not that we needed him to tell us that.

After the poor start, we did, thankfully, improve. Three minutes into the game, Tamsin scored our first goal, and after that the floodgates opened. We won convincingly, and by the end of the day sat comfortably above Canada in our group.

It meant our immediate fate was well and truly in our hands, which was what we'd been aiming for – and indeed expecting – from the start of the campaign. A win against Canada, and we'd be through the group stage and into the quarter finals. A loss ... well, that just didn't bear thinking about.


	55. fifty-five

I hadn't been expecting to play against Nigeria or Spain. In fact, even _after_ I'd been picked for the Nigeria match, I still didn't automatically assume I'd play against Spain. My selection had come as a pleasant surprise to me both times.

All the same, it was a disappointment to learn I wasn't in the team to play Canada.

"Just player rotation," Demelza reassured me. "This time, it's your turn to sit out. Don't think it's a reflection on your performances; you've played very well in both games. I've been incredibly impressed with you."

It wasn't hard to guess how she was thinking. Jess Birch was also back in the side as Seeker ahead of Archibald Tromburg. Canada were a good side, and we had to beat them if we were to ensure our progress. Demelza had to pick the strongest team at her disposal, and clearly at this point she preferred to pick players who'd already been tried and tested mentally at this level.

Still, I tried to convince myself my World Cup wasn't over yet. Admittedly if she was choosing players for must-win matches based on their previous experience, I probably didn't have much of a chance as the stakes rose and the matches became harder and more important. But I was still in the squad, and that meant I had the opportunity to push the others for a place in the starting line up.

I'd thought it would be a relief not to have the pressure of the Canada match on my shoulders. But this wasn't quite the case. The personal pressure had been replaced by the frustrating thought that, sitting in the stands, I'd have absolutely no control over the result of the match. It was a feeling I wasn't used to, as I'd played so frequently for the Falcons recently, and I didn't like it. At least it would hopefully make the pressure of playing seem less terrible, if it were the preferable sensation.

One advantage of sitting out was that I could make sure Brigid's birthday was more about her. Demelza let us have Monday afternoon off as the day before a match was usually less strenuous than other training days anyway, and she knew a lot of us wanted to catch the Ireland match. So I headed straight to Puddlemere, knowing I'd find her in the stands there. Luckily, Germany's match was being played on the adjacent pitch so I didn't have to miss it.

I soon found Brigid in the stand, watching Ireland's game, with her parents. She seemed happy to see me, and even more so when I handed her present over to her.

"You never remember! I'm impressed, Jim!"

"It's the new, post-breakdown me," I grinned. "I'm going to remember everyone's birthdays from now on."

"First orchestrating some good publicity without my help, now you're remembering to buy birthday presents without prompting ... before long you won't need me any more!" she laughed.

"I always need you," I said fondly, draping an arm round her shoulders and squeezing tightly. "Carlotta says happy birthday, by the way. I think she wanted to come down herself to watch some of the Quidditch, but she's had to go into work today."

"Tell her thank you very much," Brigid smiled. "Wait – she didn't buy this present, did she?"

I mock-gasped.

"How dare you suggest I _didn't_ buy your present myself? Of course she didn't; it was all me! Honestly, I'm a changed man."

She laughed.

"I believe you, don't worry."

I grinned, and turned my attention to the match in front of us.

"How are they doing?" I asked.

"Not too bad. Argentina are playing damn well though. We're doing well to stay in front at the moment, if I'm honest."

I glanced at the scoreboard and saw Ireland were only two goals ahead.

"Is that down to your guys not playing well, or the Argies having a good one?"

"Bit of both, I think," Brigid replied. "We've not been tested properly yet, so this is a pretty big step up from the other group games. It's all going to come down to the Snitch capture, I think."

I pulled a face.

"What about the Germans?" I turned to try to see the score in that match.

"Same kind of situation, I think. Klaus will need to catch the Snitch for them to win."

"He's one of the best Seekers around right now; he'll manage," I said confidently. "What are the permutations looking like?"

"I think they need a winning margin of a hundred and ten points, or something like that. So they can't be more than forty points behind when he catches the Snitch."

"They're three goals ahead at the moment-" Sinead's voice was drowned out by a few cheers from that match's crowd. "Make that four, Della just scored. So they _should_ be okay."

"How's she playing?" I asked. "Although I guess you're not really paying attention to that match, are you?"

"A little bit. She's one of my players, just because my son's playing on the adjacent pitch doesn't mean I'm disregarding her completely." Sinead smiled slightly. "She's playing very well, as she usually does. She really is their star player."

"Good on her." I grinned.

"It's a shame you're not playing tomorrow," Sinead added.

I shrugged, trying not to look too disappointed.

"Squad rotation. I half-expected it."

"For what it's worth, _I'd_ be playing you," she said.

"The others know how to handle this type of match though," I reasoned.

"You'll only learn how if you're given the opportunity," she pointed out. "Oh well. I'm sure Demelza has her reasons. And she's no idiot; she won't completely rule you out of the knock-out stages, especially as she seems to think a lot of you. But I do think playing against Canada would help your cause slightly."

"I'll just have to work a bit harder in training from now on, eh?" I said with a wry smile.

"How are things with your best friend Jeremiah?" Brigid asked.

I groaned theatrically.

"He's as awful as always," I said. "You've seen him on the pitch, hogging the Quaffle like it's nobody's business. He's a right ass in training too, constantly reminding me he's had more experience of playing for England than I have. Dick." I scowled.

"He's an idiot," she agreed. "Still, least you're better than him, eh?" She ruffled my hair.

She was distracted from boosting my ego, as the Irish and Argentinean Seekers both went into a dive. Moments later, Brianna emerged as the triumphant player, rising with her fist clenched.

Brigid let out a delighted squeal at her country's success, and I grinned, and rose to my feet to applaud the players. Next to England, I supported Ireland, partly because Ryan played for them but also because of the general camaraderie between the Irish and English players within the League. With the exception of the Lynches, the Irish players were a friendly bunch.

"Watch out for Cassie Lynch," Brigid warned me as we headed down the stairs of the stand to see the players. "She's around, and if she sees you I've no doubt she'll try to sink her claws into you again."

"She wouldn't have a chance," I replied smoothly.

* * *

><p>There was a distinctly smaller group of Weasleys in attendance for the Canada match. Only those who were genuinely interested in Quidditch – namely Mum, Albus, Lily, Hugo, Uncle George, Freddie, Roxanne and Uncle Charlie – showed up. Even Aunt Angelina was absent, having apparently lost a bet to Uncle George which left her running the shop. I knew Dad would have turned up if it wasn't for his own work commitments, and I suspected the same was true of Teddy and Uncle Ron.<p>

Part of the reason for the absences was of course that I wasn't playing. A lot of my family members didn't mind watching games I played in, and would almost certainly snap up tickets for the final regardless of which _teams_ played, let alone whether I was involved, but they weren't interested in a group match that didn't concern me. I couldn't blame them, given that they'd already taken two days off work to watch me. Demand for the match also meant it was ticket only, which I'd expected, and the hassle of acquiring tickets had obviously deterred some of them. Mum had managed to nab some tickets through her links at the Ministry, and I'd also been given a few, but most of them had been snapped up very quickly – after all, there weren't many seats in the small stands.

Given the match was ticketed, it was even more of a surprise to see Maddie sitting with Lily.

"What are _you_ doing here?" I asked, taking a seat next to her after I'd fulfilled my commitments with the team.

"Why, am I only allowed to watch Quidditch matches you play in?" She raised an eyebrow. "It's England, in a World Cup. I decided to come along to watch. Is that a crime?"

"Course not. I was just surprised to see you here, that's all. I didn't realise you'd managed to get a ticket."

"Your Mum had an extra one in case your Dad got the day off, I think. Either way, Lily snagged it from somewhere for me. So, how many points have we got over them at the moment?"

"A hundred and twenty," I replied promptly.

"Not enough to ensure we get through even if we lose the match, then."

"Nope. Luckily, we don't need to score _too_ many to put the game out of their reach. But they're playing well, so anything could happen."

Maddie nodded in agreement.

"Still think you should be playing," she said. "Group Four gets decided today too, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, that one's a straight shoot-out between Russia and Australia. I reckon Russia will win, based on their form so far."

"Who's already through?"

I tutted.

"You should know the answer to _that_, Madeleine," I scolded. "Ireland and Germany, of course!"

"Oh, so Germany beat Egypt then?"

"Easily. It was tight at first, but the Germans ran away with it in the end. Mostly because of Della's good Chaser play and Klaus catching the Snitch, of course."

"The Brand Show, huh?" She grinned. "Suppose you're hoping England don't get drawn against Germany in the quarters, then?"

"_If_ we get through," I reminded her. "It doesn't matter who we get; they're all good sides."

"I guess that's what tends to happen in World Cups," she agreed. "But still, Germany have slain one giant in Egypt, who's to say they won't do the same again?"

"I dunno; I think I'd rather have them than, say, Bulgaria," I reasoned. "Beating Germany seems more possible. But _then_ you'd run the risk of being too complacent..." I sighed. "Sport, eh? Don't play it professionally, Mads, it's enough to pull your hair out."

She laughed.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said, sounding amused.

"How's that going, anyway?" I asked. "The whole tennis thing?"

"Signed with an agent the other day. Just looking for a coach now, then we can get the ball rolling. I'm excited, but really nervous at the same time, you know? I mean, this is _it_, this is what I've been waiting for."

"Do you regret turning that contract down last summer?"

"Not one bit," she said flatly. "I wouldn't have left Lily for the world."

I smiled fondly, and gave her a one-armed hug.

"I really hope this works out for you," I said.

"So do I, Jim," she replied. "So do I."

* * *

><p>We won the match, but it was a hard task. Canada's Chasers were incredibly good, and pulled ahead on a few occasions. But in the end Jess was just too good for their Seeker, and secured the group win. While we were all overjoyed to have qualified for the quarter-finals, the overriding feeling was relief. None of us wanted to fail, and missing out on qualification would have been the biggest failure of them all.<p>

But I was feeling uneasy about our prospects. It was becoming increasingly clear something was going to have to give. Us Chasers had all been rotated thoroughly, and it seemed evident that one player was more redundant than the others.

Jeremiah McLaggen was superb on a broom, there was no doubting that. And he was a more than adept Chaser. But he offered nothing special, nothing to set him apart from anyone else. He was physical, yes – but so was Emily, who was far superior with the Quaffle. His saving grace had always been his flying skill, but that was where _I_ was better than him. That was why things just hadn't worked when the three of us had played together; he offered nothing _different_ to me or Emily, nothing to add to our dynamic as a unit.

In that case, it seemed as though our best unit had to include Tamsin. The safe option was for me to sit out. After all, the other three were the incumbents, they'd played the qualification matches, and if Wadcock were still in the squad ahead of me, I'd opt to play McLaggen ahead of Wadcock.

But they'd not set the world apart against Canada. Emily and McLaggen playing alongside each other just didn't seem to work given their similar styles of play. I couldn't see Demelza choosing to leave Emily out; her little tricks were doubly as successful when combined with Tamsin's creativity. So the only other option was to leave McLaggen out.

But that would mean playing me in the knockout stages. And I wasn't sure if Demelza was prepared to do that. Either way, I had a sneaking suspicion this was why Tamsin had seemed so unconvinced before the Spain match. Perhaps it wasn't _me_ she was uncertain about, but her Tornados teammate. Perhaps she'd seen what I now did; that the dynamic just didn't _work_ when he played, no matter who his teammates were.

I didn't know for sure if this was the case. But it gave me even more motivation to work hard in training. Because I wanted to play in that quarter-final. I wanted us to get as far as we possibly could. And I wanted to be as big a part of that as possible.

I'd had to sit on the bench for one match. I didn't want to have to do it again.


	56. fifty-six

We had to wait longer than expected to discover our quarter-final opponents. We thought things would be done and dusted by the end of the week, but Brazil threw a spanner in the works. Although nobody had expected them to roll over against Bulgaria, nobody had anticipated the match running into the weekend either.

"Poor Stef," Della mused as we watched them. "He's going to feel rotten at the end of this, win or lose."

As the match was being played at the Falcons' ground, a few of us had decided to show up on Saturday morning to give Stefan some much-needed support. The match had begun on Thursday, and had only stopped to allow the reserves to take over on a rolling basis so the players could get some much-needed sleep. It was already the longest professional match in twenty years, and it showed no signs of ending soon.

"It's not his fault his Chasers are being outplayed," I reasoned. Bulgaria were down by about two hundred points, which was almost unheard of for them. If the teams were more finely balanced, the score line would seem impressively close for a forty-eight hour long match, but Bulgaria were number one in the world, twelve places above Brazil, and some people had considered them clear favourites for the Cup before the tournament had begun.

"No," Della agreed, "but he'll argue he should have been able to catch the Snitch before his Chasers fell too far behind for the match to be salvageable. You know what he's like, the standards he sets for himself; to have taken a game into its third day is to fail in his eyes. In _any_ Seeker's eyes."

"Imagine if we play you next," I grinned, "and it goes to three days."

"I advise you not to make that comment in Klaus' earshot; you'll send him into a cold sweat just thinking about it."

I laughed. Klaus was also here watching the match; he and Ryan had gone to buy us all some Butterbeer from one of the stalls.

"I hear he's off back to Heidelberg for the closed season," I said. "You going in that direction too?"

"I'm not sure," she sighed. "They're my home team, my grandfather played for them and I grew up supporting them ... I wouldn't dream of _leaving_ the Falcons, even though the Harriers offer me a contract every January, so the thought of being able to play for them _without_ leaving here is ... well, beyond words. But ... if you're a European Chaser who wants to advance your game and improve your skills, you've got to go somewhere outside the continent. I was thinking about heading to Australia, actually." She paused. "What about you? Do you fancy that?"

I hesitated for a moment before answering.

"I thought so, at first," I said eventually. "But then I considered the distance, and ... I've just got my family back, you know? And there's Carlotta, too ... I'm not so sure whether it's the thing to do. I might just go for somewhere closer. I mean, I'd love to improve my game, of course, but ... I don't know if I'm ready to move to the other side of the world for a few months."

She smiled in understanding.

"You don't have to go far away," she said. "If it's not for you, then it's not the right thing to do, and I admire you for being able to say that. You'll still benefit hugely from playing with a team like the Harriers or the Vultures. Have you heard from anywhere yet?"

"Brigid says some teams have asked, but I don't think I've given her a proper answer yet. I was waiting until after the League finished to even think about it, and then the World Cup kind of sprang out of nowhere ... I think I need to concentrate on that first. I'll sit down and work out my next move once it's all over and done with."

"Good decision," she agreed. "But you won't be leaving Europe?"

Our conversation was halted as Stefan finally, _finally_ caught the Snitch and ended the match, but it was too late for his Bulgaria side. It had become clear their Chasers weren't going to make up the difference, and so he'd clearly decided that even if they couldn't win, he wanted to end things on his terms.

"No," I said, as the Brazilian side celebrated their surprise group win. "I won't be leaving Europe."

* * *

><p>A pang of guilt hit me later that week, when I realised my own career move wasn't the only thing I'd forgotten in the wake of my England call-up. I'd promised both Mum and Dad, as well as Professor McGonagall, that I'd find a successor for Madam Hooch by next September at the latest. So far, I hadn't succeeded.<p>

The trouble was, I just didn't know who to ask. Mum and I had already admitted that no current players would be prepared to retire for the job, and retiring players wouldn't take _another_ job that kept them away from family. That ruled out a lot of potentials. I was sure McGonagall had already advertised for a replacement, but the job requirements were more precise than it might have seemed; whoever took it would have to referee the matches as well as teach flying. All in all, finding somebody qualified for the job who'd also want it was tough.

Nevertheless, I made another attempt at recruiting someone in training on Monday. Unfortunately, Tamsin was no more interested than anyone else I'd talked to.

"I don't think Daffyd would _let_ me, in all honesty," she said of her husband, sounding apologetic. "He's been a stay-at-home dad for the last ten years or so, I think it's my turn to take on the parenting role once I retire. I doubt he'd take too kindly to my taking a teaching job. It's good you're trying to find someone, though; McGonagall's lucky to have you as a recruiter."

"If nobody else takes the job by this time next year, then my mum will, and I don't think my dad wants that," I admitted to her.

"Your mum would be good at it," she acknowledged. "Your _dad_ would, actually, now I think about it-"

"He won't leave the Aurors." I shrugged. "He feels like he can still do good in the Ministry – and besides, he won't leave his troops. He won't leave Mum either, for that matter. Albus is in Auror training; Lily can barely fly herself; Freddie's not responsible enough to teach; Brigid's too impatient; Hugo's only just left Hogwarts, he won't go back straight away; Victoire would murder Teddy if he left her to look after Dora and Remus by herself; Ethan and Dominique have only just gotten married; Roxanne's only just into _her_ playing career so she's hardly likely to retire now; Uncle Charlie's always preferred animals to humans; Uncle George and Aunt Angelina will never leave the shop-"

"You really _have_ put a lot of thought into this, haven't you?" Tamsin smiled ever so slightly. "What about Julia, or Laura, or Sophie..."

"They've all said the same as you; they'll retire to spend time with family, _not_ to take up another job that's just as time-consuming."

"And that's your problem." She sighed. "You need someone who's already been out of the game for a long time, someone whose family have grown up and moved on..."

"Someone like my mother," I finished. "But I don't know how to go about _finding_ them. If an advertisement in the _Prophet_ hasn't worked, then I don't know what will."

"You shouldn't worry too much about it," She said gently. "Madam Hooch will stay for another year if she has to. And you should be thinking about the World Cup right now. If I find anyone who I think might be up for it, I'll let you know."

"Thanks," I said with an appreciative smile.

"Anything to prevent the Saviour of the Wizarding World from losing his housewife," she joked. "Come on, Junior, back on your broom. We've got a match to prepare for!"

The match. Our quarter-final. We were playing Brazil on Saturday. Given their Chasers' current form it would be a tough match and seemed like an awful draw, but then I wasn't sure I'd like to play any of the teams who'd made it into the last eight. Ireland had been unfortunate and had drawn Uruguay, while Germany would face Peru. The last match would be between Russia and Luxembourg.

We didn't know the team yet. With five days to go before the match, I wasn't sure when we'd learn who'd be playing. Demelza didn't seem to have any particular schedule on that front. We'd learned the team that played against Nigeria almost straight away, and we'd picked the team to play Spain early on too, but the team to play Canada hadn't been announced until comparatively late.

There were pros and cons to each approach; if Demelza picked a starting seven now, they'd have all week to practice together and develop tactics, but it'd mean putting all her eggs in one basket very early on, and I wasn't sure if she liked doing that. Leaving the team decision until later in the week would give her more time to be certain she'd picked the right players, but would mean less preparation time.

I wasn't expecting to be picked. I _wanted_ to play more than anything, of course, and I still wasn't sure McLaggen gelled with the rest of us, but there was no denying this was a huge game, and he – along with Tamsin and Emily – had the experience I lacked when it came to such big games. I knew all too well I'd be the risky pick, and to be honest if I were in Demelza's shoes, I wasn't sure I'd have the confidence to pick myself.

I tried to bury those worries, for that evening at the very least. I'd had an idea; there was something I wanted to show Carlotta, and I didn't want team decisions to cloud that.

The outing I had planned wasn't just for her benefit. I'd experienced most things within the wizarding world, but this was one thing I'd only ever heard about before. Mum and Dad spoke so enthusiastically of their experience, as did Uncles Ron, George, Bill and Charlie, and I'd always been envious of their stories. Even Uncle Percy and Aunt Hermione, who both lacked the rest of the family's enthusiasm for Quidditch, couldn't deny their awe of the atmosphere a home Quidditch World Cup created.

There really was nothing quite as special as the sight of thousands of witches and wizards from all over the world descending upon the moors of Britain in anticipation of the final. Even with nearly three weeks to go, those with the cheapest tickets were already arriving, with mixed expectations. Some, like the Irish and Peruvians, fully anticipated seeing their teams reach the final. Others knew their country hadn't a chance – indeed, there were many people from countries as far-flung as Samoa or Ethiopia, who knew their country was already out of the Cup, and never really had a chance from the very start – but just wanted to experience the atmosphere and enjoy the Quidditch as a neutral. It created an absolutely incredible atmosphere, incomparable with anything I'd ever experienced before.

Of course, if it was a new sensation for me, it was completely beyond Carlotta's imagination. Her mouth constantly gaped with awe as we wandered around the campsites, each tent larger and more extravagant than the one before. The Australian contingent was unmissable with their green and gold tents, flags and all sorts. Across the way, the Argentineans were just as patriotic. Carlotta let out a cry of joy as we came across a small group of Spanish witches and warlocks, and even plucked up the courage to approach them for a chat – none of which I understood of course, since that I didn't know a single word of Spanish.

Our wander took far longer than it should have done, as my presence didn't go unnoticed. All the way round the campsites we were swamped by people who approached to shake my hand, to ask for photographs and autographs, to congratulate me on my call-up and caps, to bemoan my absence from the Canada match, and to express their joy over the Falcons' League win – it seemed we had a large international following. It was the kind of fanfare I'd probably have despised before, but as it was I actually thoroughly enjoyed it. It was a wonderful feeling of camaraderie, and – perhaps more importantly for me – my dad's name wasn't mentioned once.

"Wow," Carlotta breathed, once we got back to mine.

"And it'll only get better," I said, trying to keep my own excitement in check. "Just wait, as it gets closer to the final and more fans turn up ... it'll be incredible."

"I wonder what it'll be like, to be at the _final_..." she mused, almost to herself.

"You don't need to wonder, you'll be going."

"I – what?" She frowned.

"You think Dad won't be getting any tickets? Heck, my whole extended family are sure to be there, no matter which teams play. Well, Nana Molly probably won't go, or Aunts Fleur and Audrey, but everyone else will get tickets. They've probably _already_ got them. You think I'd let you miss out on something as big as this?"

"Even if England don't make it?"

"Why on earth wouldn't _I_ go if England didn't make it? I'll be in those stands no matter who's playing. And if I'm going, you're going."

"You won't be watching from the stands if England _do_ make it," she pointed out. "You'll be playing, won't you?"

I raised an eyebrow.

"Now you're just being ridiculous. Anyway, put the final in your diary, because you're _definitely_ going."

"But ... won't the tickets be expensive?" she asked hesitantly.

I paused.

"Let's just say money isn't an issue in my family. Besides, Dad'll probably be given a load of tickets for free anyway, no matter how much he'll insist on paying for them. Either way, you don't need to worry how much your ticket may or may not cost, it's yours."

She smiled appreciatively.

"Your family are too good to me."

"Don't get excited, they're only buttering you up to make sure you don't break the Statute." I winked.

"That's good; I was starting to worry that they actually _liked_ me," was her dry response.

* * *

><p>The team to play Brazil was announced the next day. To my utter surprise, <em>I<em> was going to play. To McLaggen's fury, he wasn't.

"What?" he cried upon learning that his place for the match would be on the bench. "But I'm far more experienced than him!"

"You have more years of professional experience, I'll grant you that," Demelza said, "and a few more caps, but James has more experience as a Chaser than you do. Besides, everyone else has sat out a match. This is your turn to sit out."

"But – this is a _quarter final_! If we lose, we're out of the competition! Potter's never played in a knock-out game before-"

"That doesn't mean he hasn't played in a must-win game," she said firmly. "I've made my choice, Jeremiah, and you won't change it. If you want to talk about it, we can do so in private."

He said no more, but shot me a glare.

"Do you think this is just rotation?" I asked Emily later, as we took a break from training.

"I'm not sure," she replied. "It _could_ be – after all, the three of us haven't played together yet and she's tried every other combination out. I _do_ find it interesting she's trying out a new line-up for a quarter final though. She's right that it isn't drastically new ground for you, but at the same time it's a big pressure game, and I wouldn't have been at all surprised if she'd picked a line-up that had played together before. I don't know why she didn't play you against Canada, to be honest. It's not like she needed to see how Tamsin, McLaggen and I play together. I wonder..." She tailed off.

"Wonder what?"

She hesitated for a moment.

"Don't get too excited, because this is only my guess ... but I wonder if, by playing McLaggen instead of you against Canada ... if she was giving him another chance?"

I frowned.

"I don't follow..."

"Surely the only reason she'd give _him_ three group games, and not _you_, is because _he_ was the one she thought needed to prove himself? And as she's picked you now, and not him ... it suggests she was already confident about you after the first two games, but _wasn't_ confident about him. And by leaving him out now, she's maybe ... picked her first choice Chasers?"

"But ... that would mean..." I didn't want to say it out loud, in case Emily was off the mark, because if she _was_ right I was so close to my biggest dream coming true...

"If we get any further in the competition, we'll be the ones to play, and McLaggen would sit out," she finished. "I won't lie, I'll be bloody glad if that were the case. I know I _try_ to get on with him, for the team's sake, but Merlin's beard, I can't stand the bloke, both on _and_ off the pitch. He plays with completely the wrong attitude for a Chaser, he really was far better off doing a solo job. He was a fine Seeker for Gryffindor, and not a bad Keeper too, from what I heard, but he seeks the limelight far too much to be a Chaser."

I grinned slightly, but my mind was elsewhere.

"Do you think we _will_ get further in the Cup?" I asked.

"I think we _can_," she said. "But Brazil's Chasers are good. The other six teams are all damn good as well, and we can't win the Cup without beating two of them. It's a tall ask, of course it is, but I don't think we've had a better chance in years. Tamsin is playing as well as she's ever done, the Bagmans are the best Beaters England have seen since the Broadmoor brothers, Jess is a world-class Seeker, and you're the hottest Chaser out there right now. And as for Michael, he thrives on that kind of pressure. We've got the players, it's just whether we can pull together and put on the performance that's needed."

"You're not too bad either, you know," I put in.

"Thanks." She smirked, and ruffled my hair. "Good to know I can always rely on you for a confidence boost, Junior. Anyway, enough of this speculation. We won't win the Cup without putting in a lot of practice now!"

I couldn't remember ever being more excited for a practice session. If I _did_ have even the slightest chance of playing in a World Cup final, I was going to do all I could do cling onto and improve it. I didn't care how much it would take. I wasn't going to let Jeremiah McLaggen play another England game ahead of me.


	57. fifty-seven

It was beginning to appear as though Lily, Brigid and Carlotta had formed some sort of James Potter Welfare Committee. It certainly hadn't escaped my notice that one of them was almost constantly at my place whenever I was there. Although I'd only really noticed it in the past week or so, once I thought about it, I realised it had been going on since almost the start of the World Cup. Knowing them as well as I did, I knew it was no coincidence.

They made their actions clear a couple of days after the team was announced for the Brazil match. I'd been struggling in training, and they'd all picked up on how stressed it was making me. Tamsin and Emily had both reassured me that our little stumbles weren't my fault, and they were only to be expected when players were coming together for the first time, but I couldn't help worrying they were just saying it to make me feel better. And McLaggen's sneering didn't exactly make things any easier. I didn't think he could make his glee at my misfortune any _more_ obvious.

I was beginning to wonder if I was getting to breaking point.

And that was when my Welfare Committee came to the rescue – by turning my flat into what appeared to be some sort of refuge for the helpless.

Well. It was basically a Weasley convention. But to all intents and purposes, that was the same thing, especially when three of those Weasleys were Freddie, Louis and Hugo.

They were lounging across my furniture, drinking Butterbeer and half-watching some Muggle film I vaguely recognised. Albus was also here, along with Lucy and Rose – who'd brought an uncomfortable- looking Scorpius with her. Maddie and Kit were here too, sprawled across the floor playing catch with Cordelia – but then, they practically counted as Weasleys as well these days.

"Er..." I began, more than a little bit surprised to stumble in on such an audience.

"Evening, Jim." Freddie inclined his bottle of Butterbeer in my direction as though he were inviting me into his own place.

Before I could ask why they were all there, there was a knock at the front door. Rose, being closest, got up to answer it.

"Hi. Cato appeared, looking slightly puzzled. Cleo hovered behind him in the corridor. "Brigid left a message to come here..."

"Come in!" Rose said enthusiastically, practically dragging them into the room. "Here, have some Butterbeer – we thought we'd be nice and stay off the alcohol for you guys..."

Still utterly bemused, I headed into the kitchen, to find it almost as crowded as the room I'd left.

"Oh, hey James!" Lily said thickly, looking up from where she, Roxanne and Ryan appeared to be attempting to mix a cake mixture at the kitchen table – though they seemed to have more of the substance on them than they did in the bowl.

"Er..." I said again.

"You're back! I didn't hear you come in." Carlotta came towards me and kissed me lightly. "How was training?"

"It was ... there are people in my living room. Why are there people in my living room?" I frowned.

"Thought you could do with a bit of a distraction," Brigid explained, handing me a bottle of Butterbeer. "I didn't expect quite so many of your cousins to come – you know what Lucy's like, flaky as anything, and Hugo's been off doing his own thing since leaving school. As for Louis, I don't even know how he found out we had anything planned. And then Rose wanted to bring Scorpius along – you know, to 'integrate him into the family' and whatnot, and I felt like I could hardly say _no_, and Maddie and Kit are permanent fixtures these days, and Ryan has no friends of his own-"

She squealed and ducked to avoid the large ball of flour that he threw at her from across the kitchen; it sailed over her and crashed into the cupboard door, sending powder everywhere.

"Oi, enough of the missiles!" Carlotta scolded. "It's a good thing I've already baked a cake, and we're not relying on the monstrosity you guys will turn out..."

I snickered, as I drew my wand and cleared up the flour.

"And the wonder twins? Where do they come into proceedings?" I asked.

Brigid shrugged innocently.

"They're Falcons, aren't they? Figured we should include them more in stuff."

"Oh, I see. That's why Della's here-" Ryan dropped a wooden spoon- "and Klaus, and Stef, and-"

"Details, details." She waved a hand airily. "Besides, they're in training."

"Stef's not," I pointed out. "And Ryan _is_-"

"Well ... he's my brother, isn't he? Easier to contact. Now stop being _picky_ and go out there and _socialise_. I can invite more people round if you want?" she added.

"I don't think this place is big enough to hold anyone else," I said dryly. "Unless someone's going to eat in the bathtub."

"Yeah, it'll be you at this rate!" she scolded. "Now _go_, leave the cooking to people who know what they're doing."

I looked pointedly at Lily, Roxanne and Ryan.

"It's keeping them occupied," Brigid explained, as though they were Victoire's kids and not our generation. She shoved me out of the kitchen, and shut the door behind me to make a point.

It was nice, I reflected as I shoved Hugo off the arm of the sofa and claimed it for myself, to see Brigid so relaxed and playful. I hadn't seen her like that for a long time – in fact, I couldn't put a time frame on it. Had I been _that_ inattentive recently? I winced at the thought.

Still, she seemed better now. Whether that was because the World Cup was providing a happy distraction for her, I wasn't sure. But _Freddie_ certainly seemed to be acting better lately, even if he _was_ still refusing to actually do anything on the Brigid front. Unfortunately, I was still at a loss as to what I could do to help.

I was jolted out of my thoughts as I heard my name.

"-James doing in training?" Lucy was asking Cato and Cleo.

"He's doing really well," Cleo said with a smile and a wink in my direction. "Slotted in straight away, didn't you, Junior? Pushed McLaggen out of the team – I can't tell you how happy that's made everyone-"

"Except McLaggen, of course," interjected Cato, who'd joined in with the game of catch. Cordelia was still letting out squeaking noises which I took to mean she was enjoying herself – I liked to think those were happy squeaks at any rate, otherwise she was the world's unhappiest pygmy puff.

"But anything that pisses him off can only be considered a bonus," finished Cleo.

"I'm not doing _that_ well," I said in objection to her original comment. "I keep making mistakes-"

"Jim, you've been playing with Wood and Robins for _two minutes_, it's hardly going to be smelling of roses straight away," she pointed out. "Seriously, you need to stop being such a perfectionist on a broom, because you just heap unnecessary pressure on yourself. _Everyone else_ is more than happy with how you're performing in training – except McLaggen, but he's a little shit, and if I haven't smacked a Bludger into his head by the end of the Cup then I've failed myself as a Beater."

This comment was greeted with laughs from my sympathetic family, and even I raised a slight smile.

"She's right, though," Cato added. "Mistakes happen all the time out on the pitch. The best players are those who learn how to deal with those mistakes."

"What, like having to take a second shot to knock a player off his broom?" I said cheekily, referring to their tactics against the Lynches.

"That was always part of the plan," Cleo said smoothly. "But that makes an excellent point, you see, because you think we're capable of not just making a mistake on the pitch, but also rectifying that mistake in such a way that you wouldn't even know we'd done anything wrong." She winked. "That's all you need to be able to do. You just need confidence in your ability to smooth over a mistake. And the ability to let it _go_, once it's done. You can't change what's happened, but you can stop yourself from _thinking_ about it too much and thus letting something else go wrong."

"Seriously, if you're worrying about the Brazil match, then you've no need to," Cato agreed. "We've got every bit of confidence in you. And so's Demelza. The way I see it? If you've got the big boss's backing, you've _no _reason to worry at all."

It was now _blindingly_ obvious why Brigid had invited the Bagmans round for tea. Subtle as a brick at times, was that girl.

But even though I knew half her reason for inviting them round was so that they could reassure me about my performance in training– only half the reason, because I was sure she was being truthful when she said she was trying to be more inclusive towards them as Falcons players – it didn't mean I disbelieved what they said. After all, I doubted she'd have gone so far as to _brief_ them on what to say to me. And even if she _had_, they wouldn't have listened to her. Sportspeople didn't bullshit their words.

Unless they were McLaggen, but then he was the most _un_sportsmanlike person I knew.

And their praise and advice _did_ reassure me. After all, nobody was perfect – hadn't I told myself this enough times? I'd never played a perfect match, and I doubted many people had. Yes, this was the World Cup, and there was a _lot_ at stake, but I didn't need to let it eat at me at every waking moment.

So I let myself relax, if only for a few hours, and joined in as the rest of the family ribbed Scorpius something rotten, and gave Hugo stick over his not-quite-relationship with Alice Longbottom, and howled with laughter at the disaster that Lily, Roxanne and Ryan declared was a cake. Quidditch was forgotten about, as was any underlying issue between Freddie and Brigid. It took me back to all those evenings spent messing around in Gryffindor Tower, back when our biggest worries in the world had been handing an essay in on time, and we'd barely begun to think about things like careers, or relationships, or having to learn to stand on our own two feet.

Sometimes, I missed those days.

* * *

><p>The first quarter-final started a day before our own game. The whole squad was interested in watching it, so Demelza let us leave training early. The interest was mainly on a pure Quidditch level; it was the knock-out stages of a World Cup, not to mention there was a chance we would face the victors at some stage.<p>

But my interest was more personal than that. Peru were playing Germany, which meant Della and Klaus were playing. So it was with immense excitement I took my seat in the stands with Cato and Cleo. The tickets had been gifted to us by the German team, probably thanks to Della's influence. They'd also secured one for Ryan, but he was in training for Ireland's quarter-final which was due to start the day after ours, so he hadn't been able to make it. Instead Roxanne joined us, keeping up the Falcon representation.

The ground was packed solid, with every single seat taken. There were German and Peruvian flags everywhere, and I suspected we as English folk were in an extremely small minority.

"The Germans have been piling over in their thousands since they won their group," said Roxanne. "The Peruvians pretty much set up shop right at the start of the group stages of course; they expect to reach the semis at the very least."

I didn't question how she knew about the sudden influx of German supporters. She'd been at the campsites selling Wheezes merchandise from stalls with Freddie, Hugo, Louis and Lucy for the last week or so. It was an ingenious idea, which had actually come from Freddie. From what I'd heard they'd already raked in a huge sum of money, and Uncle George was working all hours to ensure the supply kept up with demand. They'd totally run out of pygmy puffs, though. Magic couldn't speed that process up.

"Do the Germans expect to win this game, then?" Cato asked her.

"I don't think so. They were hoping rather than expecting to make it out of their group; anything more is a bonus. I think they're here for the experience more than anything. And good on them; it'll make it a good atmosphere today, that's for sure."

"It could get tasty if they win, though," Cleo pointed out. "The Peruvians certainly aren't here just for the experience; they'll be mighty angry if their guys lose."

I winced at the thought.

In the end, there was no crowd trouble to worry about. Germany put up a good fight, mainly through their Chasers, but after a fair few hours of play, the Peruvian Seeker just pipped Klaus to the Snitch. Klaus looked devastated, and not for the first time I felt a pang of sympathy for Seekers, who often didn't get the praise they deserved when their team won, and yet were far too easily blamed for losses.

The match was, for me, another eye-opener. The atmosphere created by the fans in this must-win contest was electric, and completely infectious. The German fans, driven not by expectation but by hope, remained supportive of their players even after they had lost, and their cheers as the team did one last lap of the pitch were the loudest of the day. The Peruvians, meanwhile, only truly relaxed once their team's progress was ensured. Throughout the match they'd demonstrated a huge range of emotions, and I dreaded to think how that might have manifested itself had their team lost.

The English fans would be just the same at our match. I didn't fancy exploring what happened when expectant fans were presented with a disappointing outcome.

* * *

><p>"Brazil are easily beatable." Demelza's voice rang out in the changing room. "That's not to say we'll beat them easily. Bulgaria were too complacent, and look what happened to them. So I don't want to see any complacency out there. Yes, Brazil had a blinder against Bulgaria, but every single one of Bulgaria's players let themselves down last week. Their Chasers and Keeper didn't create a comfortable situation for their Seeker to work from, their Seeker in turn didn't catch the Snitch quickly enough, and their Beaters didn't break up Brazil's play enough.<p>

"So. Chasers, you're going to assert yourselves on this game as quickly and as completely as possible, to the point where I don't want to see that Quaffle in the hands of any of their players. If they _do_ get the Quaffle, it is not to go anywhere _near_ our hoops. They are going to be sent scattering by those Bludgers. And if their Seeker ends this match, you guys won't know what's hit you. And that's before the fans and the media get hold of you."

She'd adopted the fear tactic before, but not this strongly. And admittedly, this was probably the place for it. Against tougher teams a more delicate approach would be needed, but against a team we _could_ easily beat, a team that had arguably gotten lucky from a fluke result, it was the fear of losing that had driven us on in training all week, and that would continue to drive us on for the match's duration.

Not that it was the only motivating factor. We didn't even need to leave the changing room to hear the noise from the crowd outside in the stands.

And when we headed out to the pitch, it was to be hit by a wall of sound, louder and more passionate than anything I'd heard before. The stands were a sea of white and red, yellow and green. Banners, flags and scarves were held aloft, opposing chants intermingling with each other's, fighting to be heard. I knew Mum and Dad were somewhere in the stand, along with Albus, Lily, Carlotta and whoever else had managed to secure tickets for the most anticipated England match in over a decade.

I hadn't even started at Hogwarts the last time we'd made a World Cup quarter-final, and even then it had been more fluke than anything else. This time, we'd been almost _expected_ to make it this far. And now that we had, it was clear the supporters were beginning to hope, beginning to _dream_, that we could go further, make the semis, make the final, maybe even _win_ the tournament...

We had to win this match. For the supporters. They'd been let down for too long now, and it was about time they were given something to cheer about.

We shook hands with the opposition as was customary, then assembled on our brooms, fifty or so feet above the referee and the crate of balls. And then the balls were released, and the biggest game of my career yet was under way.

I fumbled the Quaffle on my first touch. Of course I did. It seemed to be becoming a habit of mine in important matches. Luckily, Tamsin recovered it and proceeded to pass straight back to me, and this time I caught it without trouble. My stomach was still bubbling with nerves, but I didn't feel like I was about to capitulate as I'd done before.

It soon became clear that Brazil's win against Bulgaria hadn't just been a fluke. Their team was playing incredibly well; they'd clearly been training immensely hard for this.

But so had we. And finally, _finally_, I was playing as part of a Chaser trio that operated smoothly. Our varying strengths all complimented each other's perfectly; in fact, we felt like a more balanced three than any other Chasers I'd played with, and I'd spent three seasons thinking no trio was better than Della, Ryan and me. Of course, we made a couple of mistakes along the way, but that was only to be expected in our first match together. If the mistakes had all been mine, it might have bothered me, but when the most experienced player in the tournament was making occasional slip-ups it eased the guilt slightly.

We won by two-hundred-and-seventy points. For a few moments after the match had finished, I felt absolutely on top of the world. But it didn't take long for me to come back down to earth. After all, winning our quarter-final meant we had a spot in the semi-finals. The pressure just kept on mounting.


	58. fifty-eight

"Are you nervous?" Carlotta asked gently.

I raised an eyebrow at her.

"Don't give me that look, it doesn't suit you," she said lightly, tapping my nose.

"Well, that's the kind of look you get when you ask me a stupid question."

"So, you're nervous." She paused. "What _about_?"

Now she really _was_ asking stupid questions.

"Have you been taking crazy pills?" I asked.

"I'm always on crazy pills," she quipped. "Point is. You're nervous about the Quidditch, right?"

"You know, slow doesn't suit you," I said drily.

"But are you nervous about playing the semi?" she continued. "Or about whether you'll be picked in the first place?"

I hated it when she did that.

"You're far too perceptive for your own good," I scowled, messing up her hair.

It was Monday, two days after our win. Russia versus Luxembourg, the last quarter-final, was on the television in the background, but I wasn't really paying any attention to it. The result didn't matter; not in the immediate future anyway. The winners of this game would play Ireland, who to my immense delight had beaten Uruguay in a seven-hour thriller.

We were to play Peru, at Puddlemere in five days' time. Peru were the highest-seeded team left in the tournament. England hadn't reached a World Cup semi-final in generations. We couldn't have been dealt a much harder challenge.

In fact, it would be so hard that part of me was wondering if I even _wanted_ to play in the match. I knew it was stupid to think like that, as being forced to sit on the sidelines at this stage would be sheer agony, but I was beginning to feel the weight of the country's expectations on my shoulders. Now I didn't get the _Prophet_, I couldn't see how much coverage it was giving the World Cup, but Brigid had told me that it was well and truly both front and back page news by now. Besides, even without an active_ Prophet_ subscription, I could see how the Quidditch channels were focussing on England. Half the reason I wasn't paying any attention to the current match was that the commentators didn't seem to be either; they hadn't stopped talking about England throughout the coverage. I'd muted it after ten minutes.

"Do you think you'll get picked?" Carlotta continued.

"Do _you_ think I'll get picked?" I retorted.

"I don't know a thing about Quidditch..."

"You know enough. Do you think I'll get picked?"

"Well, _yes_, of course-"

"Of course you're going to say that, you'd hardly tell me I _won't_-"

She sighed. "You are _hopeless_, James Potter."

She got up and headed to Cordelia's cage. As soon as she took the pygmy puff out of the cage, the room filled with a loud, contented purring. She returned to me and dumped Cordelia on my lap. I smiled slightly, and stroked Cordelia with one finger, as Carlotta curled up next to me.

"I may not know much about Quidditch," she continued, "but I _do_ know you played well last weekend. And I also know everyone's saying you should play next weekend and not McLaggen. Surely that's enough to reassure you?"

"I don't want to assume I'm playing, though," I pointed out.

"So instead you assume you won't? Great idea." She smiled slightly and kissed my cheek, then reached a hand out to run her fingers through Cordelia's fur.

"I'm not assuming _anything_," I pointed out. "I just ... don't want to get my hopes up over something that might not happen."

"You honestly think McLaggen will play against Peru?"

"_I_ wouldn't play him, but I don't pick the team."

"Well, for what it's worth I wouldn't play him." She paused. "What will you do after the Cup? People are talking about going abroad; I've heard mentions of Australia..."

"I won't go to Australia," I said. "Brigid reckons I've had offers, but I don't want to go that far away. I'm thinking somewhere in Europe, a bit closer to home; I don't think the other side of the world is a good idea. If you're lucky, I'll let you come and visit..."

"And if you're lucky," she said, with a smirk, "I might even take you up on that offer."

* * *

><p>To my surprise – and delight – Ryan popped round during the week.<p>

"Well done against Uruguay," I congratulated him, "that looked a tough game."

"You have _no_ idea." He grimaced. "You guys did damn well against Brazil as well, especially when you think of their form lately."

"We'd have been in the doghouse if we'd lost that one," I agreed. "Butterbeer?"

"It's about all we _can_ drink these days," he said grudgingly.

It was only once we'd settled down with a Butterbeer each that the reason for Ryan's visit began to become apparent.

"Have you decided not to go outside Europe after the Cup?" he asked.

"Yeah, I have," I admitted. "I figured I'd be better off staying closer to home – you know, what with me and Dad, and ... and stuff."

"Carlotta, you mean." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah, basically." I smiled wryly. "I don't know where we are or where we're going, exactly, but I think going to the other side of the world would probably kill it off pretty quickly, and I don't fancy that just yet."

"It might not..." Ryan began.

"But it might," I finished. "And what with international travel being so complex, I figured it's not worth it. I'll play somewhere in Europe, that'll be enough for me. Why do you ask?"

He shifted slightly in his seat.

"I've been offered a short-term deal with the Thunderers," he said tentatively.

"That sounds good," I said approvingly. The Australian team had just won their domestic league.

"There's a catch, though," he said. "It's a joint deal. They..." He hesitated for a moment. "They want both me and Della. Apparently they wanted you too, but they'd heard you weren't interested in a deal from somewhere so far away, so figured they wouldn't bother approaching you..."

"Really?" I frowned. "That's odd, I don't _think_ I've said anything to Brigid yet..." I shrugged. "Anyway, I don't see where the catch is. You and Della are _awesome_ together, of course they're going to want you both."

"Yes, but..." He sighed. "I guess I kind of hoped a winter away from her might ... might help things, you know? And instead, we're both going to be _there_..."

I frowned slightly.

"Look ... I know you're worried about affecting the team dynamic and stuff, but ... maybe you just need to _say_ something to her?" I suggested. "You know her, you know she won't take it badly, regardless of how she feels-"

"I can't say anything," he interrupted. "How ... how _stupid_ would that sound? And I don't want to ruin this for her; she's so excited at the thought of playing abroad for a few months, the _last_ thing she needs is me coming along and marring the whole experience."

"You won't mar it, don't be daft," I said, suppressing an eye roll. "Look, if it bothers you that much, why not just turn the offer down?"

"Because if _I_ don't go, she can't go, and I'm not going to pull a chance like this out from under her feet. I'll do it; I'll go. It'll make her happy, and Merlin knows if I can do anything that makes her happy then..." He tailed off, his thoughts clearly running away with him.

"Don't you think it's about time you started making _yourself_ happy?" I suggested. "I get that actually _talking_ to Della about this is probably really daunting, but ... well, it's a win-win situation. Either she confesses her undying love for you, or she ... well, _doesn't_ ... but at least you'd _know_. Wouldn't it be better than just sitting around here assuming, and making decisions based on _her_ when ... well, shouldn't you be putting yourself first when it comes to your career?"

"It's not that easy when a no from me means she can't play for the Thunderers either though, is it? If it was me and you, and I knew you wanted to go, I'd say yes for your sake too. It's not as though I have anything to lose Quidditch-wise by going, because I _do_ want to play abroad for a bit, and the Thunderers are a damn good team. I want to say yes, I just..."

"Does she want to play for the Thunderers?" I asked.

"She wants Australia, doesn't she? With this, she gets Australia. It's just, she gets me there as well..."

"Why don't you talk to her about the contract and whether you both want to sign it?" I felt as though I was talking to an eight-year old. "There's no point panicking about it if she's already read and binned it, is there? Then you can work things out based on her reaction to the idea of you both going. For what it's worth, if I were in your shoes I'd just tell her you like her-"

"Yes, but you're not exactly backwards in coming forwards when it comes to girls, are you?"

"That doesn't count; any girl I've gotten with since Hogwarts has been a fleeting thing where I didn't care about the girl in question. Even when I first got with Carlotta, that was only for _fun_. Things like that are a lot easier when you don't care about the outcome. But if I really liked a girl, and especially if I thought keeping quiet about it would affect my Quidditch, I'd just bite the bullet and say something."

"And what happens when she freaks out?" Ryan retorted.

"You know she's not the kind of girl to do that. She wouldn't be your type if she was, would she?"

"But it'll change things between us..."

"Yes, you could end up with a few more kids than you had in mind. What if you never told her, and it turned out she'd liked you all along and thought you weren't interested so she moved on? You'd hate yourself for it."

"I know." He sighed and stared morosely at his bottle of Butterbeer. "I just ... don't like the thought of having to face her when she tells me she's not interested."

"Don't do it face-to-face, then," I suggested. "Write her a letter. Chicks dig that kind of thing-"

"She won't 'dig' it if she's not interested, James!"

"You never know," I shrugged, "it might _make_ her interested. If she's not already, of course."

He chewed on his lip for a moment.

"After the World Cup," he said. "Once that's all over ... then I'll talk to her. Then I'll tell her." He looked sick to the stomach at the thought.

I just hoped that luck was on his side.

* * *

><p>In the end, there <em>was<em> no debate over who would face Peru. Cleo had well and truly delivered on her promise, and sent McLaggen flying off his broom during practice with a superbly-hit Bludger. The blow was enough for Demelza to send him straight to St Mungo's – I only hoped Allegra Fawcett wasn't the poor Healer who had to deal with him. International rules stated that any player hospitalised for such an injury was to be sidelined for a week, so Demelza had no choice but to play me with Emily and Tamsin whether she wanted to or not. Not that she looked too perturbed by the situation.

"Oh, you were always going to play, Jim, this just means McLaggen can't _moan_ about it," Emily Wood said confidently.

Freddie seemed to agree with her.

"Of course she was going to pick you, you idiot," he said on the eve of the match, not even trying to hide his eye-roll. "Tell him, Brie."

Brigid smiled.

"He _is_ right," she agreed. "But I'm not about to call you an idiot to get my point across."

"Well, _honestly_," Freddie said. "_McLaggen_? You'd _have_ to be an idiot to pick him after your performances, Jim."

"You wouldn't have him in the _squad_ if you had your way," I pointed out.

"So?" he shrugged. "Maybe you need to start believing in your own hype. You're the only person who _doesn't_ think you're guaranteed to play. Don't you think that says something?"

"That people don't like McLaggen?" I volunteered.

"That you're _better_ than him," Freddie insisted. He sighed, and threw his hands back behind his head. "I'm looking forward to tomorrow's match. Should be a good one."

"Should be a _long_ one," I added, wincing.

"Which of your parents is stuck in the shop this time?" Brigid asked Freddie.

"Neither of them," he replied. "They don't get any business during the matches anyway, people are too busy watching them themselves. Besides, they couldn't come to an agreement; they both wanted to work tomorrow."

I frowned.

"I would have thought they'd both want to see the match..."

"Ah, but what they both realised, and you haven't, is that whoever worked tomorrow would be able to turn round next weekend and call turns, and go to the final. So they've decided to stay shut for the next two weekends instead."

Whatever the following day's outcome might be, the Weasley clan would be out in force at the final. We had enough contacts at the Ministry and beyond, to get tickets for all of us, plus a few extras, to watch the final from various executive boxes. If England weren't involved in the final, then I'd be watching the match with Mum, Dad, Albus and Lily, in a box provided by one of the Auror department's biggest donors. Uncle Ron had also been given tickets for the same box, but apparently Rose wouldn't be with them; she'd been offered a ticket for the Top Box, to watch the match with Scorpius Malfoy and his parents. She still hadn't met them as Scorpius' girlfriend, and she was understandably petrified – but the lure of the Top Box had been too much for her to turn down.

By all accounts Dad had been offered Top Box tickets but he had turned them down; while they'd offered him as many as ten tickets, he'd reasoned that it wouldn't be fair if we couldn't all watch from there. We'd be in separate boxes as it was, but at least we'd all be adjacent to each other.

But I was trying not to think about the final, and so I was glad when Freddie changed the subject.

"Actually, while we're on the topic of the shop..." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Brie, I was wondering if ... well, if you could help me out with some job applications?"

She frowned, looking bemused.

"_Job applications_? You're not leaving the shop, are you?"

He shrugged.

"I've been wondering if maybe it's time for me to get a proper job. I mean, I've been working at the shop since I left school, and all I do is serve behind the counter and restock the shelves. It's not exactly the most adventurous of jobs, is it? I just figured, maybe I need to test myself a little bit more? But I don't really know where to start, so I was hoping you could help me out. I'm not sure I've got much to offer, but I won't get anywhere without trying..." He tailed off.

Brigid frowned slightly.

"You shouldn't put yourself down so much," she said. "I think you've got a lot to offer. You're cleverer than you give yourself credit for, you're resourceful – I mean, that was a great idea to set up stall at the Quidditch camp sites – and you're very good with people. You just need to be a bit more self-motivated, that's all. I think you'd be a great catch for anyone."

I could see where this conversation was likely to lead, and so got up to take our dinner plates out to the kitchen.

"I think you see more in me than you should," Freddie said quietly. He was frowning.

"I don't," she said firmly. "I really don't."

It was testament to how much they both trusted me that neither put an Imperturbable Charm on the kitchen door once I'd shut it behind me. It wasn't so much that they didn't expect me to eavesdrop, more that while they wouldn't have such a personal conversation in my presence, it didn't concern them that I might still be within earshot.

I wasn't too sure what it said about me that I was standing the other side of the kitchen door with an Extendable Ear, but I didn't dwell too much on that.

"You know, it really doesn't bother me, Fred," Brigid continued quietly. "So you've got insecurities? We _all_ have them, Merlin knows _I _do at any rate. And look at James; everyone else in the country can see he's England standard but he still worries. It's okay to be nervous about stuff that matters..."

"I've told you, Brie," he interrupted, "you deserve better. Besides, I've been a total dick recently, you shouldn't even want to be having this conversation right now."

"That's the funny thing with feelings, isn't it? They're not always rational. Of course my brain's telling me that you hurt me, and I shouldn't forget that. But ... I know that in your head you had this stupid notion you were doing it all in my best interests, and ... well, that means something. Besides, isn't it for me to decide if I think you're good enough for me?"

I felt a proud grin spread across my face at Brigid's words.

"But I'll just cock things up like I always do, you know that," Freddie protested, and I suppressed a groan. "And ... you mean too much to me for that, I don't want to ruin what we have..."

"Freddie, things haven't been the same since we left Hogwarts," she reasoned; I found myself nodding in agreement on the other side of the door. "And ignoring everything that's happened in that time won't take us back there. I just want a chance, Fred, I ... I want to give you a chance, I want you to give _yourself_ a chance. Why won't you do that?"

"We're not having this conversation, Brigid," he said sharply.

There was a pause, during which I seriously contemplated banging my head against the wall in aggravation.

"I'm not dropping this, you know," Brigid said quietly. "I refuse to let you believe you don't deserve a shot at something you want. I'm not walking away from this."

Her words sounded familiar. They sounded a lot like what I'd said to Carlotta, when she'd been adamant I somehow deserved more than her.

With any luck, Brigid would be as successful as I was.


	59. fifty-nine

"Peru are good..." Emily muttered.

"Mm-hmm," I responded.

"_Really_ good..."

"I know."

"The best team left in the Cup..."

I sat up straight and turned to tell her to be quiet. I didn't need to be told this would be our toughest opposition so far; I was already well aware of that.

But when I saw her face, I forgot everything I'd planned to say. And that was when I realised.

I was the least experienced player in the team, and I supposed I'd assumed that the others were all hardy, seasoned pros, to whom this kind of thing was old hat.

But ... England had never been _this_ good, at least not for years and years. Emily hadn't played in a World Cup semi-final before; this was the first time she had made it past the group stages. Tamsin was the only one of us who'd been playing long enough to have experienced knock-out Quidditch, against the toughest of the tough.

Emily had kept her composure, up until now. She had a good few years of pro Quidditch under her belt, including a World Cup, and knew how to handle pressure. But this was on a different level to anything either of us had experienced before. The stadium at Puddlemere was packed to the rafters – we could hear the noise clear as day from inside the dressing room – and the whole country was watching, _expecting_. This was a far cry from those days of Gryffindor versus Slytherin at the Hogwarts stadium.

"Just ... just think of it as another game. I wasn't sure if I was talking to Emily or myself. "Just another Quidditch match that we want to win. We ... we do this for _fun_, remember? We do this because we enjoy it..."

"They should really give out pamphlets on professional Quidditch when they do careers advice in Fifth Year," she said glumly, "emphasising how the pressure and expectation will completely wipe all the fun out of playing." She sighed heavily, and sat upright. "But you're right, Junior, we put ourselves through this for the love of the game. And that's what we've got to do today. Go out there, play and _enjoy_." She paused. "We're going to get crucified if we lose, aren't we?"

"Yup," I agreed dolefully.

"Even though Peru are ranked above us."

"Only two places," I reminded her. "It's not completely impossible. Besides, we beat Brazil, who beat Bulgaria, who are top of the rankings, so-"

"That technically makes us the best team in the world," she finished with a wry chuckle. "Honestly, what do we sound like, Jim? Anyone would think we were going out there to face a _dragon_, not seven Peruvians. And even if we _were_ facing a dragon – how did your dad tackle that one? He flew his heart out. Maybe we should take a leaf out of his book."

For once, I didn't mind the reference to Dad. I knew it wasn't deliberate.

And besides, she had a point. Given the choice between the Peruvians or the dragon, I knew which I'd pick.

"It's time," Demelza called out, her voice hollow.

We got to our feet and grabbed our broomsticks. For a moment, it looked as if she wasn't going to say anything to us, but eventually she spoke.

"I believe in you guys," she said firmly. "I really do. You're the best damn team I've ever coached by far. And whatever happens today, I'll have no regrets. I'll be prouder of you than words can say."

"I know we can win this," Michael spoke up, which was unusual, as he generally left the motivational talks to Demelza. "Just remember everything we've done in training, and take it out there onto the pitch. And don't get lost in the moment, either. This is just another game against another team."

Except it was a semi-final, and if we lost we'd have the whole of England on our backs. Apart from that, it was just another Quidditch match.

Michael led us out of the changing rooms as usual, and a wall of noise hit us as we passed through the doorway.

The Peruvians were waiting for us, and I cast a nervous eye over our opposition. They certainly didn't _look_ like dragons. In fact, they didn't look that scary at all.

Catching my eye, Tamsin shot me a wink. I took a deep breath and cracked my neck.

We could do this. _We could do this._

* * *

><p>"You did it! You <em>smashed<em> it!"

A slightly green, but otherwise thoroughly healthy-looking Joshua Wadcock burst into the changing rooms, looking as elated as we all felt. Emily let out a squeal, and dashed forwards to hug her Puddlemere teammate.

"They let you out of quarantine, then?" Michael said with a grin.

"Yeah, they wanted to keep me in until I was the right colour, but I nagged and nagged at them to let me out in time to watch the match – but enough about me, you guys had an absolute blinder out there! Tammy, I haven't seen you that pumped up in years!"

"It's being around these kids that does it; their youth is infectious," she grinned.

"Long may it continue! Now, where's Cleo? I owe that girl a smacker..."

"Here!" she called from the corner. "I don't know why _I_ deserve the smooch, it was the Chasers who won it for us-"

"Indeed they were, but you're the one who took McLaggen out, and for me that's an infinitely bigger achievement than beating Peru!"

I snickered, as he enveloped her in a hug and planted a big kiss on her mouth. It was a sign of how hated McLaggen was that Cato didn't so much as bat an eyelid at this act of gratitude.

"You'd better not still be contagious," she laughed once her mouth was free. "You're most welcome, it was the most satisfying moment of my career by far."

"I don't think he's got long left with England," Wadcock continued. "Not as a Chaser, at any rate. You've got some _moves_, Potter! Player of the Match!"

It was true; the official announcement had been made at the end of the match.

"It was a joint effort-" I began.

He snorted.

"Take the plaudits for once, mate, Merlin knows you deserve every word of praise you're getting. Hurry up and retire will you, Tammy, so I can play with this kid?"

Tamsin shook her head in mock disbelief.

"You kids these days, no respect..." she began, before dissolving into fits of giggles as Emily, Jessica and Cato mobbed her.

I grinned, watching my teammates let off some steam. In a couple of days' time we'd be wound up as tightly as springs again, but for now, it was all about savouring the moment.

* * *

><p>Most of the crowd had left by the time we emerged from the changing rooms, the only people left being family members and press. That number slowly whittled down as media obligations were fulfilled and congratulations were said, until only Carlotta and I were left. I was in no hurry to get back to the flat, so we sat at the top of the stand for a while, just chatting. Our time together had been somewhat reduced as the World Cup gathered steam, so it was nice to be able to relax with her for a bit. I supposed it was a mark of how far we'd come, that we were both content with sitting outside and talking rather than spending the time in my bedroom as we'd been so inclined to do a few months previously.<p>

The extra pitches at Puddlemere were being removed; with only one semi-final and the final itself left, the extra capacity wasn't needed. It was an odd thought, that after all the build-up, all the worrying and pressure, the tournament was already close to an end.

"Will you miss this, when it's over?" Carlotta asked curiously.

It was something I'd not really thought about, so it was a minute or so before I answered.

"Yes ... and no. I mean, playing on the highest stage of all, representing your country ... it's what every Quidditch player dreams of, and you can't beat that, you know? But at the same time ... well, I'll still be playing Quidditch. That's why I play, because I _enjoy_ it. And I know I'll always have that, for as long as I can still sit on a broomstick at any rate." I paused. "It'll be nice to get away from the pressure as well. It can get bad enough in big games for the Falcons, but England ... well, it's on another level. It makes me feel ... stifled. Trapped in my own head. And I don't like it."

She squeezed my thigh comfortingly.

"I think you're dealing with things wonderfully. Just don't bottle it all up. Just one more week, then you can let go."

I smiled at the thought. I felt like I'd been under a constant pressure since my return to the Falcons – and even before my meltdown, when I'd been fighting so hard for an England call-up. The me that had attended Dominique's wedding at the start of the year seemed almost like a different person.

Not that that was a bad thing. I'd matured a lot in that time.

"What about you?" I asked her, pulling myself out of my musings and returning to the topic of the World Cup.

"Well, we've had a lot more business in the restaurant recently."

"What, from wizards?"

"I can't be entirely sure, because they'd hardly advertise it if they were, but we _have_ had a lot more business than usual, even for the summer, and we _are_ the closest Muggle eating establishment to Diagon Alley. It's been fun, trying to guess whether a group of guests is magical or not."

"And how have you gotten on with that?" I grinned.

"Well, I don't know, do I? It's not like I could turn round to them at the end and ask them. But sometimes there have been tell-tale signs, like being unsure about some foods on the menu or wary of the beer when most men don't care what it is so long as it's wet and alcoholic – oh, and trying to pay with Galleons, that's a big hint."

I groaned.

"People _do_ that?"

"I've tried to come to the rescue any time I've noticed it, like a good citizen does," she said. "Really, your Ministry should be offering me a reward for helping to uphold the Statute."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Bit ironic, don't you think?"

"But I'm James Potter's girlfriend, of _course_ I should be allowed to know everything about magic!" she said in a snobbish tone of voice.

I let out a snort, and elbowed her in the side.

"Don't push your luck, Martínez."

I'd realised a while ago just how irritated she got when people dropped the Spanish part of her surname. So I liked to make a concerted effort to do the exact opposite.

"_Fortescue_ Martínez, boy, and don't you forget it," she scolded, elbowing me back.

I grinned, pulled her close, and kissed her forehead.

"Like you'd let me," I said fondly. "Come on, let's get back to mine, and you can cook me dinner."

* * *

><p>The next day Ireland met Russia in the second semi-final. It was a repeat of the semi-final from four years ago, and we were hoping the result wouldn't be the same. Russia had shocked Ireland in that match, although the final had proved one game too many for them as they lost to Uruguay.<p>

The home crowd were out in force again for this one, although admittedly there were a lot of Irish fans here in their own right. But the combination of the two meant the ground at Falmouth was overwhelmed with green.

The match was somewhat of a family outing, with Mum, Dad, Albus and Lily all here. It was a rare occurrence for all five of us to watch a Quidditch match together as I was usually playing, and even if I wasn't, Dad and Albus often couldn't get off work. Maddie and Kit were here with us, but Carlotta wasn't; she'd booked next Sunday off work for the final, and couldn't secure two free Sundays in a row.

Everyone expected the game to be a tough one. Russia were, according to the rankings, the worst of the four semi-finalists, but they were only one spot below us and two below Ireland. They were the team you could always rely on to spring a surprise, one way or another. Ireland certainly couldn't afford to take them lightly.

Knock-out Quidditch was, in some ways, a completely different game to league Quidditch. In the league it was the points that counted, and rarely did a team just play to win. This meant you could predict whether or not a match would be a long one; if a team planned to rack up their points like we had against the Arrows, or if a team needed to draw the match out to ensure a certain points difference.

In knock-out Quidditch, of course, the win was all that mattered, so the Seekers had that rare freedom to catch the Snitch right from the off. It made it much harder to predict how long a match would be, because so long as both teams were within fifteen goals of each other, either Seeker could catch it at any time. In some senses it made watching more thrilling, because anything could happen at any moment.

It was a wonderful chance for Chasers to flex their muscles, too. Emily, Tamsin and I had had that luxury yesterday, and I'd actually enjoyed the game. From the outside, it seemed as though there ought to be less pressure for Chasers in a knock-out match, but having played the quarter and the semi, I could now vouch that this was _not_ the case. That fear of losing still gripped every single inch of bone and sinew, ate away at even the most confident of players. There was so much riding on these games that losing _wasn't_ an option, and complacency was the easiest way of slipping behind by fifteen goals or more. We had to perform, or we'd be failures.

So the match began in earnest. And continued in that fashion. An hour or so in, I left my seat and headed to the Butterbeer stall, bumping into Della, whose presence here wasn't a surprise.

"Junior!" she cried out in her booming voice. "Well done yesterday, you were _awesome_! I'd have hung back to see you, but it looked like half the world had the same idea so I headed off. Nice work though, I think that's the best I've ever seen you play!"

I grinned awkwardly at the praise.

"Thanks, Dell. It was a good match, wasn't it?"

"I'll say. Can I get you a drink?"

"Na, don't worry, I'm getting a round in for the family. Maybe I'll hold to that though, you can buy me something stronger once I'm back on alcohol."

"No worries. Bottle of Heidelburg?"

I winced at the thought of the killer mead.

"Maybe give me a week or two to get back into the swing of things first. Anyway, you and Murph are both off to the Thunderers, I hear?"

"Yeah, we are," she said with a slight smile. "You don't mind, do you, that I told them you weren't interested? I figured you'd be okay with it, given you told me you weren't leaving Europe..."

"Oh, that's fine." I waved a hand airily. Then her comment registered properly, and I frowned. "Wait – _you_ told them? I thought _Brigid_ must have said something. But ... I never got round to _telling_ her I didn't want to leave, did I? But then ... why were you talking to them about it _before_ they offered the contract? Why would they just approach you, if they wanted all three of us?"

She shifted awkwardly in her seat.

"Yeah, that's a funny one, isn't it?" she said with a nervous laugh. "If I tell you, you have to _promise_ you won't say a thing to anyone. _Especially_ not Ryan."

"I won't breathe a word," I vowed.

"They, um ... they didn't necessarily want _all three_ of us. They ... they asked for just me, at first. But I asked them ... I mean, we work well as a team, don't we? I figured they might want more than just one of us..."

I raised an eyebrow.

"I get the feeling you're trying to avoid getting to the point."

She sighed heavily.

"I just wanted us all to be able to stick together, you know? I mean, it's cool that you don't want to go, you should do your own thing and that's fine – not that I mean I don't _want_ you there as well, because I _would_, but Ryan will still be there with me and that's ... that's enough..." She swallowed, and turned to look out at the ongoing match. "It was probably a really stupid move. I bet there's loads of surfer chicks out there, which he'll probably _love_, I expect they're just his type..."

Finally, _finally_, the Knut dropped. I had to fight hard to stifle a laugh.

"I don't know," I said in a casual tone. "I think he prefers loud blonde Germans, to be honest-"

She turned to look back at me so fast her hair nearly took my head off.

"_What_? I mean ... I don't know what you mean-"

"You like him!" I tried to keep my voice down – which was hard, given the excitement I was feeling. "You asked for the Thunderers to sign him too ... bloody hell, Dell, that's one hell of a contract perk! They _must_ have really wanted you, if they were willing to sign him too-"

"They would have taken you, as well," she said hurriedly, "it would have looked a bit weird if you were up for going there but they only asked for two of us – but what do you _mean_, about his type..."

"Dell, love," I said, amused, "if you can't work it out when it's staring you in the face, then I don't know if you _deserve_ to have someone spell it out to you." I slung an arm round her shoulders and squeezed, and planted a kiss on her forehead. "Merlin, you two are going to have an eventful time of it."

Judging by the smile that was now spreading across her face, she was thinking the same.

* * *

><p>Three hours later, the match was still going strong. Ireland were in the lead by forty points, and the Snitch had shown its face a couple of times, only to disappear again. Dad had made noises of aggravation on both occasions as the Seekers missed their chance; he seemed to think he'd have made the catch.<p>

Shortly after it had evaded the Seekers for the second time, he got up to get some food. I volunteered to go with him, wanting to stretch my legs again; they were still a bit stiff from yesterday's match.

But on the way towards the food stall we were collared by a familiarly large figure.

"Harry, m'boy!" boomed Professor Slughorn. "And ... well, if it isn't the man of the moment! Well played yesterday, James, always good to see my old pupils doing well ... you both _must_ let me introduce you to a friend of mine..."

And before we knew it, we were both tucked under one of his arms – no mean feat, given we were both much taller than him – and he was steering us in the exact opposite direction to the food stall. I shot Dad an exasperated look across Slughorn's rotund belly, but he just looked amused. I supposed if I'd had to deal with Slughorn as much as Dad had, I'd probably end up adopting the same resignation.

As it was, while I'd been in his Slug Club at school – and even with our cousins also in his clutches Albus and I had clearly been his favourites – I'd done my best to avoid him. Once I'd made the Quidditch team, practices had proved the ultimate excuse to miss his dinners. Michael Wood had been another unwilling member of the Slug Club, so he'd deliberately booked the pitch up for the same evenings as Slughorn's dos. Ryan hadn't escaped Slughorn's notice either, but he found the parties amusing, so he'd had no real objection to attending them. By that time he became captain, however, Freddie, Albus and Roxanne had joined me on the team, so Ryan had followed Michael's lead in order to keep us quiet. When I'd received the captaincy badge after him, my main source of joy had had nothing to do with being handed the most senior position in my beloved house team. I was just relieved I had the power to ensure I could continue avoiding Slughorn.

It wasn't that he was a horrible person. He was pleasant enough if he didn't know your name, and couldn't do enough to please you if you were related to a 'somebody'. It was just that people who were attracted to fame, glory or success were my least favourite people.

"Here he is!" Slughorn said triumphantly, bringing us to a halt by a tall man I'd come across before. "This is Barnabus Deverill, he owns the Tutshill Tornadoes – won the League two-hundred-and-sixty-three times, you know – he sends me tickets all the time..."

I knew, of course, who Deverill was. One tended to run into Quidditch club owners when in the professional game. Still, I humoured Slughorn, mostly because I knew Dad would be disappointed if I said anything out of turn.

"And I'm sure these fine gents don't even need an introduction!" Slughorn rounded off, squeezing my shoulders; I hid a wince.

"Indeed not." Deverill smiled politely at us. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr Potter – and to meet you again, Mr Potter," he added, nodding at me.

Slughorn ignored the reference to any previous meeting between Deverill and myself.

"Taught these two myself, I'm proud to say." He puffed out his chest. "We got a very nice E in N.E.W.T Potions from you, didn't we, James? And as for Harry here, well, I daresay we'd have gotten an Outstanding from you had you sat the exam! Yes, it was very satisfying to teach you both. And it's so good to see ex-pupils doing well. You know, I often say that teaching is the most rewarding job one could have. After all, what could be more important than teaching our youth, spreading our knowledge?"

"I couldn't agree with you more, Professor Slughorn," Dad said pleasantly.

"Horace, my boy, call me Horace, all my good friends do. Of course, we're going to have a vacancy at Hogwarts soon, poor Rolanda's finally calling it a day ... why don't you replace her, Harry m'boy? Why, you'd do a fine job! I've heard all about your days of running that illegal study group of yours, you did a fine job teaching your fellows by all accounts! And I'm sure you'd love an opportunity to get back on your broom again."

Dad smiled, but I recognised it as his forced smile, the one he used when he was trying _not_ to look as though he wanted to run away from the conversation.

"I'm not sure that's the job for me. For a start, I wouldn't want to leave the Auror department. And besides, what would Ginny do without me around?"

"You could always do it together," I suggested suddenly, as the idea struck me. "Then you wouldn't have to leave her at home."

Dad glared at me and I winced and shrugged apologetically. But it was too late; Slughorn was off.

"What a fine idea; don't you think so Barny? _Two_ Potters at the school; why, what excitement that would be for the kids!"

"I'm not sure we would work well together," Dad said, clearly trying to worm his way out of it.

"Nonsense, you'd be great!" Slughorn proclaimed. "What about you, young James? Think you could follow in your old man's footsteps and teach at some stage?"

I blanched.

"What? _Me_? I'm playing, I couldn't-"

"Don't rule it out, m'boy! A more honourable job there never was! Well, except an Auror I suppose..." he added thoughtfully, squeezing Dad's shoulders.

Deverill took advantage of Slughorn's momentary silence.

"And how are things at the Falcons, James?" he asked me. "You're getting on well there?"

"Very well," I replied, grateful for the change of both subject and conversationalist. "It was amazing to win the League again this summer."

"Indeed." Deverill nodded slightly, and I prepared myself for the question which I knew would come next. "And do you see yourself staying at the Falcons?"

"You're headhunting, Mr Deverill," I observed.

He smiled, unabashed.

"I watched your match yesterday-"

"As did most of Britain," I pointed out.

"Indeed," he said again. "I'm sure we could find a place for you in our team at the Tornadoes, Mr Potter. I can offer you a very substantial wage, too, and perks-"

"That's a very kind offer, Mr Deverill, but I'm not in it for the money," I said flatly. "I play for the love of the game, and for my teammates. And I wouldn't dream of leaving them for the world. Besides, I've just signed a contract extension, so I'm definitely not available."

Although I still hadn't signed it, I remembered now. Brigid was sitting on it, with the idea of negotiating a better deal if my demand increased. Well, it seemed as though that was the case, and I suspected this conversation would give her leverage in securing better terms. Not that I cared a jot. But it was her job to get good deals for her clients, and if it made her happy then I wasn't going to stand in her way.

"Club loyalty, a rare thing to see in a player these days," Deverill observed. "That is indeed ... most admirable."

His tone of voice suggested it was also a most unwelcome attitude, at least from someone he was trying to poach from a rival club.

"I'm glad you think so, sir. I'm sure you seek those standards from your own players. It was nice to see you again – and wonderful to see you too, Professor Slughorn," I added as I wormed my way out of his grasp, "but we really must be going, Dad and I are supposed to be getting food for the others-"

"Oh, the rest of you are here as well, are they?" Slughorn began; I groaned inwardly as I realised my mistake. "Do tell me, how is young Lily? I hear she's left school now-"

"She's _very_ well, I'll be sure to tell her you asked after her, have a lovely day!" I said quickly before darting off, Dad hot on my heels.

"Nice one," he muttered, once we were out of earshot. "He's like a leech, is Sluggy, even now."

"It must have been like all his Christmases had come at once, seeing us both together," I commented wryly.

"Indeed." Dad imitated Deverill's voice.

I snickered. "He was pulling out all the stops there, wasn't he? Sneaky little blighter..."

"Didn't fancy the Tornadoes, then?"

I pulled a face.

"Are you kidding? Having to see McLaggen in training every day? Sure, they have Tamsin, and Jessica, and little Ruby Ellerby, but nothing could make playing for the same club as McLaggen worth my while."

He laughed loudly.

"You have my fullest sympathies," he said. "But if it's any consolation, his father was worse."

"I'm not sure that's possible."

"Oh, trust me," he said darkly. "It is."

Ireland finally won, thanks to Brianna's Snitch capture five hours in. The players' overriding emotion wasn't elation at reaching the final, but relief that the match was over. I felt a bit sorry for them, knowing how brutal long matches were, but there was a sense of joy in the back of my mind too; perhaps this would wear them out a bit more, and put us in good stead for the final?

_The Final_.

It hadn't really sunk in all weekend. But now, as I lay in bed that night, it hit me like the Hogwarts Express.

We were in the Quidditch World Cup Final. _England_ were in the final. Playing _Ireland_. McLaggen hadn't played the last two matches, I'd been Player of the Match against Peru, Barnabus Deverill wanted me for the Tornadoes, Slughorn thought I'd make a good teacher...

As I slept that night, it felt as though my brain was on overload.


	60. sixty

There was a peculiar atmosphere in training in the week approaching the final. It was an interesting mixture of joy, trepidation and enthusiasm, along with an eager curiosity – this was a new experience to all of us – and almost _relief;_ this time next week it would all be over with.

And that was an odd thought in itself. This time next week it would be the eve of September. Quidditch in Britain would be finished for the year, and players would be putting their feet up and either savouring the start of the off-season, or, if they'd signed short-term contracts, packing in preparation.

More and more players were securing their deals. Cato was joining Ryan and Della in heading to Australia, having signed for the Woollongong Warriors. Cleo was going in the opposite direction, and would be plying her trade in Brazil.

"We figured we need to test ourselves a bit," she explained to me. "We can't rely on being able to play together forever. If something happened to one of us, it'd screw us both up. So we're pushing the boundaries a bit, giving things a go without each other. It'll be weird, because I don't think I've done anything without Cato before. But it'll be fun. Besides," she said with a grin, "one of us might stumble across the elusive Uncle Ludo along the way."

We'd all heard the stories about Ludo Bagman, their grandfather's brother, who nobody had seen in over thirty years. Dad had told us that he'd put his trust in the wrong species, and that had led to his downfall.

"He was a bloody moron," had been Uncle Ron's version of events. I knew who I preferred to hear the stories from.

Being related to someone with an embarrassing back-story didn't bother the twins. Most of those who remembered Bagman didn't even acknowledge that part of his life anyway, preferring to remember him as the Beater who'd played so well for the Wasps all those years ago. Besides, the twins were now famous in their own right. So they treated the story as an amusing anecdote to tell at social gatherings, hence Cleo's joke about it now.

"I'm sure I could nab you a contract, if you fancied it?" she suggested.

I grimaced.

"No chance, last I heard of Astrid-the-alcoholic she'd shacked up with a guy in Rio."

Cleo snickered. Everyone knew of the disastrous ex-fling that was Astrid. In fact, Cleo had probably been at the function where Astrid had thrown the canapés, and even if she hadn't been there, she'd have heard about it. _Everyone_ knew that story.

"Fair enough," she said, still smirking. "I'll be sure to let you know if I come across her. Where are you headed, then?"

I shrugged.

"No idea. I guess Brie and I will sort it out next week. I don't want to bother her this week, it's ... well, it's awkward."

All through the World Cup, it hadn't even crossed my mind this could happen. I wasn't sure if Brigid had realised it either. But now her brother was due to play her best friend in the Final. Had I not been playing for England, I knew she'd have no qualms supporting her brother and country. But it wasn't that simple now. She'd hardly want to see me on the losing side, but the thought of her beloved Ireland losing was unthinkable. She'd congratulated me after the win against Peru, but hadn't approached me since – or any of the Weasley clan for that matter, according to Roxanne.

It was a shame, but I knew she was probably feeling stuck between a rock and a hard place, and if remaining distant made things easier for her, I was fine with it. Besides, it would only last a few more days.

"What happens when you win, though?" Maddie asked later that night.

I'd finally found the time to make it to the flat the girls and Kit had moved into a few weeks previously. Kit was out with his girlfriend, but Lily and Maddie provided more than enough company.

"_If_ we win," I corrected firmly.

"If, then." She rolled her eyes. "Point is, she'll probably be heartbroken for Ryan. And if _you_ end up on the losing side – which you won't be – then she might find it awkward being around you for a while."

"I'm sure we'll be fine," I said confidently. "Our friendship transcends sporting rivalry. She'll be happy for whoever wins and sorry for whoever loses, it's as simple as that. She just feels guilty, having split loyalties."

"Maybe you'll _have_ to go abroad afterwards, to get away," Maddie said with a cheeky grin.

Lily sighed slightly, and shook her head in exasperation at her friend. Maddie ignored her. It was normal service.

"Where will you go?" Maddie continued.

I was beginning to get annoyed with the constant questioning on the matter. Not that I let it show; it wasn't her fault that people were curious.

"No idea." I shrugged. "Somewhere on the continent, I guess. No further though; long-distance travel's a hassle at the best of times."

She frowned.

"Surely it can't be _that_ bad. I mean, you guys have magic, surely it's not too hard to get to, say, Australia?"

"You'd be surprised. The only way to get there is by Portkey, and those are expensive. You have to book them a while in advance, too. Magic can't do everything, you know."

She grimaced and got to her feet, heading out of the room without a word.

I frowned, and turned to Lily.

"What's got her wand in a knot?"

"Cato Bagman," she sighed. "He's off to Australia, isn't he? They've ... well, they've gotten quite close. They write to each other a lot these days, you know."

I cocked my head.

"_Write_? As in, _letters_?"

"Yep. Owl post and all. Says something, don't you think?"

It certainly did. Maddie had always taken the piss out of the wizarding world's "archaic" form of communication, which was no surprise when she was so used to phones and the absurd web thing Muggles used on their computers. If she was actually penning letters to Cato, let alone sending them by owl, she must like him a lot.

"It's an awkward time for him to head abroad. She wants to see more of him, and she was hoping she'd get a chance after the World Cup. But he'll be on the other side of the world for at least three months, and she hadn't realised just how hard it is to get there. _I_ told her Portkeys were hard to get hold of, of course, but she didn't believe me. Or at least, she didn't _want_ to believe me. Hearing the same thing from you has just driven it home. She's busy herself, with her training and all these tournaments she's trying to qualify for, but I think she was hoping she could maybe visit him on the odd weekend. But it's not at all realistic. Poor Mads. I've never seen her this crazy about a guy before."

I felt a pang of sympathy for the girl.

"It's awkward all round, really, isn't it?" I said quietly. "Quidditch is a pretty full on career, and I expect her stuff's pretty time-consuming too, not to mention she's living in the Muggle world..."

"Awkward's certainly the word for it," she agreed. "Oh well. Make the final a short one, will you? Then at least he'll have a few days free before he heads off."

I grinned.

"I'll have a word with the teammates for you, I'm sure they'll be more than happy to oblige. Anyway, how's work going?"

She pulled a face.

"Let's just say, the Muggles in the Prime Minister's office think I'm a personal advisor to him. Which I am, I suppose – but they obviously don't have a clue it's about magic, so to them I've just waltzed into a top job straight out of school. I can't say they're too happy about me apparently leapfrogging them."

"I've told you, Lil, ignore them." Maddie returned to the living room. "Or put toads in their desks."

"I'm sure that'll go down really well with the Ministry," she pointed out. "I'll be fine, I've learned to ignore people like that."

"What's the Minister like?" I asked curiously. "The Muggle one, I mean."

Lily groaned.

"Still struggling to come to terms with it all," she said. "He's not been in power long and I don't think he's completely grasped the situation yet. Doesn't seem to realise we've been around as long as Muggles have. He appears to think we've invaded or something and are taking over. It's not an easy viewpoint to work alongside. I can see why they wanted a Squib to work with him. It might help our working relationship if he's not worried about me turning him into a frog or something at every second."

"We've _invaded_?" I spluttered. "I – what an _idiot_-"

"It's a difficult thing to come to terms with, James!" she reasoned.

"Maddie and Kit managed," I pointed out, gesturing at Maddie, who was throwing Lily's Quaffle up in the air as we spoke.

"Different people handle things differently. Bear in mind he's running the Muggle country, which is bad enough in itself. Then on his first day he learns about this whole new world-" Maddie started singing a song I vaguely recognised as one she'd taught my teapot – "and he suddenly has to juggle his responsibilities with this whole universe he never knew-"

"A _dazzling_ place he never knew," Maddie put in, squealing as Lily picked up a cushion and hit her in the face with it.

"It's a good thing I have such mature housemates to come home to, isn't it?" she said dryly.

I grinned.

"You got everything set up how you want it now?"

"We've got the Quidditch Channel," Maddie supplied.

"And _that_ was a nightmare to install," Lily added. "Given that the cloak function is usually operated by magic. And we obviously need to be able to hide it, because aside from anything else Kit expects to have Imogen round a lot."

"They've had to do a voice control system for us," Maddie continued. "They were a bit iffy about that, said what happens if someone says the trigger unknowingly, but then we pointed out that the likelihood of an unknowing Muggle saying 'Quidditch Channel on' is slim – oh, sod off!" she shouted at the television, as the channel appeared in response to her words.

"Quidditch Channel off," Lily said sharply, leaning forwards to turn the television off with the remote. "It _does_ have that slight drawback; when you turn the channel on, you turn the television itself on. Doesn't work the other way though. We've figured it's best to keep the channel off when we're not watching it, because you never know who might turn the telly on and find it by accident. I reckon we should be okay, though. The bigger issue is keeping things like the Quaffle and the pumpkin juice hidden."

Quaffles didn't look overly magical, but the Pennifold charm on them defied gravity, so they were best kept out of the sight of Muggles. Pumpkin juice was slightly less problematic, but given its rarity in the Muggle world it was probably wise to keep it hidden.

"It's owl post that's the big one, though." Maddie was still throwing and catching the Quaffle as she spoke. "We can turn off the telly, we can hide magical photos and objects – so long as we don't get a surprise visitor, and people won't generally turn up uninvited because our working hours are so crazy, nobody ever knows when any of us will be in. Anti-Apparition wards and staying off the Floo network will prevent any surprise _magical _visitors. But there's no way of stopping an owl from turning up. The Ministry are meant to be contacting Lily in Muggle-friendly ways, but you never know if they'll remember to do that, and then there's personal correspondence as well..."

She tailed off, and I suspected she was thinking of Cato.

"But we can only do our best, you know?" Lily finished. "Yes, we're living in the Muggle world, but then so do you, so does anyone else who lives in London, except those in Diagon Alley. It's just our visitors are more likely to be Muggles."

"Namely Imogen, Grace and my family," Maddie sighed.

"You not going to tell any of them?" I asked.

Lily grimaced.

"It's difficult. With Immy and Gracie ... well, Maddie and Kit have known for nearly four years about magic; how on earth am I supposed to explain why I've kept them in the dark for so long? The longer I leave it, the worse it gets. I want them to know, but ... I don't want to risk them taking it badly." She looked so upset I wished I hadn't raised the question.

"It's a bit awkward, what with Kit being with Immy now," Maddie added, "but it's Lily's decision not his, so he has to lump it unfortunately. As for my family, they don't need to know. Sure, Lottie and Robbie are chummy with Lils, but they're not close enough to warrant telling them. You know better than I do what the Ministry are like with the Statute. They may not be _quite_ as strict as they used to be as to which Muggles get to know about magic, but they still don't like it."

My thoughts turned to the files the Obliviators had on record. I wondered if Lily and Maddie knew their personal information was documented in the MAC.

"Sometimes I wonder what it would be like without the Statute," Maddie mused; this time I _knew_ she was thinking of Cato. "But then I remember Rosalind exists, and I reconsider. Imagine if she knew about magic."

I shuddered at the thought. There were enough witches of Cassie Lynch and alcoholic Astrid's ilk around, without the likes of Rosalind joining in as well.

"Cassie Lynch will be at the final, won't she?" Lily echoed my thoughts.

"Don't remind me," I murmured. "Aside from anything else, that reminds me I'll be playing against her brothers-" I fell silent, realising what I'd said.

"Oh, is the team decided?" Lily's eyes widened excitedly. "You didn't _say_-"

"It's not decided," I said hurriedly. "_If_ I play, I'll be playing against the Lynches-"

"Oh, Jim." She smiled fondly at me. "You'll play."

* * *

><p>My slip of the tongue was not, thankfully, premature. Demelza revealed the team the next day, and it was unchanged from the semi-final. It was much as expected; first choice Keeper, Seeker and Beaters. Tamsin and Emily. And me. Although it seemed the only person who didn't expect me to play was me these days. Even McLaggen – who always thought he <em>should<em> play – put up less of a fight than usual when the team was announced.

Trying to work out how to play against Ireland was tough. One thing was for certain; the spectators wouldn't get an overly exciting match. In fact, I wasn't sure there could _be_ a much worse bill in terms of entertainment value than England versus Ireland. We knew their players as well as we knew our teammates, we'd played opposite them that many times in the League. We knew their every strength and weakness, and they knew ours. We knew their favoured plays and tactics, and vice versa. More than ever, the match was going to come down to the Snitch capture, because there was no chance of one Chaser attack overpowering the other. In fact, there was almost no point in us Chasers and Keepers taking to the skies at all on Saturday; we might as well just leave it to the Seekers to fight it out with the Beaters as company.

Almost.

Because the Beaters in question were the Bagman twins and the Lynch twins, none of whom had any qualms about playing dirty. We knew neither of the Lynches would have forgotten Cato and Cleo's tactic against them in the last League match. The four of them would be going all out to knock the opposition off their brooms and out of the match. As such, that was pretty much the only solid tactic we had so far; stay on your broom. With a full compliment, neither Chaser attack would be able to make inroads on the other, but remove a player from the equation and suddenly things would become a lot less even.

Aside from that, I wasn't sure what Tamsin, Emily and I would do. We knew how to counter most of Ireland's plays; Aisling Quigley and Fiona O'Sullivan had played together since Hogwarts and could near-enough read each other's minds by now, so breaking them up usually went some way to nullifying them. They also used Ryan's speed and bulk to the maximum, which meant we'd have to somehow slow him down. Luckily for me, I knew every last inch of his flying technique, and was reasonably certain how we could kill off the threat.

Unfortunately, _he_ knew _my_ flying technique inside-out too. And _they_ knew we relied on Tamsin's unpredictability. Admittedly we had a slight advantage in that they couldn't predict unpredictability – although neither could we most of the time – but they would know to target Tamsin and put a stranglehold on her creativity.

"It's a difficult one," Tamsin said slowly as the three of us sat down to dissect tactics. "Ordinarily I'd say they know how we normally play, so we should shake things up a bit – but it's too risky. We can't put the game out of Jessica's reach. She knows it's all but a straight shoot-out between her and Brianna for the Snitch. We just need to play it safe, and make sure we all stay on our brooms and keep level with Ireland. And thank _Merlin_ McLaggen's not playing or he'd be showing off in an attempt to be Player of the Match and he'd probably lose it for us."

Emily and I snickered.

"We just need to go back to basics, trust our instincts, and keep our heads," Tamsin summed up. "And let me tell you this, I can't think of two people I'd rather be playing alongside. Win or lose, you kids have done me proud."

She flung an arm round each of us and squeezed tight.

"We can do this," she said confidently.

And I believed her.

* * *

><p>Two days before the match, Dad surprised me with a visit. But that wasn't his only surprise.<p>

"I've got a little something for you." He grinned and pulled out what looked to be-

"Tickets." I frowned and took them from him. "What-"

And then I read the top ticket, and my jaw dropped.

"I didn't ask for them, I was given them." He looked slightly awkward, as he usually did when after receiving perks like this. "I was told it's because you'll be playing, but I don't think they have enough seats in the Top Box for every player's family..."

Four tickets. Four tickets for the _Top Box_.

"I-" I looked up at him, almost speechless. "But – what do you mean, they're for _me_? I don't need tickets, I'll be on the pitch, I-"

"They're for you to give out," he said with a smile.

I frowned again.

"But – four tickets – that's enough for you and Mum and-"

"Your mother and I have already seen one final in the Top Box," he said. "We discussed it, and decided it was right to let you choose who gets them. And ... well, I can't see Freddie or Carlotta turning them down."

_Of course_. Four tickets, that was enough for Albus, Lily, Freddie and Carlotta...

"I know you probably want five, so you can offer one to Brigid too," he said awkwardly, "but I don't think they had any more left, I expect they've given me as many as they possibly can ... but she'll probably want to sit with her family, so hopefully she won't mind."

"No, you're right." I was still staring at the tickets. "She'll want to sit with her parents, with the Irish, she'd feel terrible if she wasn't with them..." I looked up, a huge smile on my face. "Thanks, Dad. You're the best."

He grinned, looking slightly abashed, and ruffled my hair.

"You're welcome, Jim. Just make sure you win, make it all worthwhile."

* * *

><p><em>AN: _The song which Maddie references is obviously the wonderful _A Whole New World_ from _Aladdin_, which I therefore do not own.__

_JK's given us some more information on the Quidditch World Cup. Which is lovely ... except it invalidates most of this story, which is a bit of a kicker. Needless to say, I won't be changing anything to make it Pottermore-compliant..._


	61. sixty-one

On the morning of the first match of the League season, Mum had come to my flat to cook me breakfast. She did the same on the morning of the Final, but there were a few more people here this time.

Dad, Albus and Lily had all arrived with her, while Carlotta had stayed the night – she was here more often than not these days. Freddie turned up not long afterwards; I wasn't sure if he'd been aware of the family breakfast, but Mum appeared to have been expecting him, as she'd put on seven eggs and fourteen rashers of bacon.

Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione dropped by first to wish me luck. Aunt Hermione gave me a huge hug, and Uncle Ron shot me a wink and clapped my shoulder.

"Make sure you win, Jim, I've got a bet with Finnigan on this one." He shot a furtive look at Aunt Hermione as he whispered this to me, giving me the impression she wasn't aware of the bet.

Rose and Scorpius were next. Albus bristled ever so slightly as they arrived; apparently he and Scorpius weren't quite at the friendly stage yet. Dad placed a hand on Al's shoulder to calm him down.

"We've got to sit with him in the Top Box later, Al," Lily pointed out once he and Rose had left. "You can't give him the cold shoulder all day."

"I don't have to sit next to him though," Albus pointed out.

"I hope Hugo doesn't feel left out, what with you two _and_ Rose in the Top Box," Carlotta spoke up. "Wasn't he meant to be watching it from the same box as you?"

"Oh, he'll be fine." Lily waved a hand airily. "Maddie and Kit are in with them, and I think the Longbottoms have tickets for that box too. Trust me, he won't even notice we're not there."

Freddie snickered.

Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur arrived with Louis in tow; Mum nearly fainted to see him out in public before nine in the morning.

"Nana Molly's coming!" Louis pronounced. "She's in with us!"

Lily squealed with joy, and Freddie and Albus both grinned happily. Nana Molly didn't like Quidditch, so it was a mark of her devotion to the family that she was coming to watch me play. Aunt Fleur smiled fondly at her son; he still tried to act aloof round the family, but even he couldn't hide his excitement at Nana Molly's presence.

"I expect Victoire will be glad of another pair of hands to help with the kids," Albus said.

"That's why she's coming with us, I think," Uncle Bill said. "That, and she doesn't fancy being in the box with George and Perce."

I snickered. The family was spread across three boxes; Dad and Uncle Ron's branches in one, Uncle Bill's in another with Uncle Charlie and, now, Nana Molly and Grandpa Arthur – and, therefore, Uncle George and Uncle Percy's families in the third. Freddie looked pleased to be escaping it.

Other relatives continued to drop by. Teddy brought well-wishes from his grandmother Andromeda. Maddie and Kit arrived shortly after breakfast was finished; they'd be going to the stadium with Mum and Dad, and didn't seem at all bothered that Lily wasn't watching the match with them. Della also popped by, though she looked rather torn as she naturally wanted Ryan to do well.

Even Allegra Fawcett turned up to wish me luck, though she looked incredibly sheepish when I opened the door, and even more so when she saw the family members behind me. Albus smiled and waved at her though, and she left looking slightly happier.

But the sweetest moment of all was when Nana Molly herself arrived, and pulled me into one of her warm, comforting hugs.

"I'll be cheering loud enough for two grandmothers, darling," she whispered to me.

I closed my eyes and buried my head in her shoulder. It was a much harder feat now than it had been ten or so years ago, when I'd been shorter than her. I breathed in her soothing Nana-Molly-scent, which went some way to calming the nerves that had been bubbling away all morning.

"They'd be so proud of you right now," she added.

"Do you really think so?" I lifted my head to look at her.

She took my face in her hands, and stood on tiptoes to kiss my forehead.

"I know so, sweetie." She smiled at me fondly. "I'm more proud of you than words can say, and I always will be."

I had to duck away at that point, to hide my tears.

Grandpa Arthur also had a few words to say.

"I always knew I'd get to watch a Weasley play Quidditch for England one day. He beamed. Having Dad's surname didn't stop me from being a Weasley. "Admittedly I once thought it'd be your Uncle Charlie, then your mother, but with this much talent running in the family, it was inevitable it would happen someday. And now look! One grandchild in England colours, and a second on the way."

There was something wonderful about family support. They wanted me to win; of course they did. Not only were we a family of England supporters, but my family always backed me, no matter whose colours I wore. Even Uncle Ron cheered on the Falcons against the Cannons these days.

But I knew that if I lost today, my family would be no less proud of me. And that kind of support was more reassuring than I ever could have imagined. The support and attention from the public was stifling, but this – knowing I had a strong support base who'd be there for me through thick and thin – helped take some of the pressure off.

Once breakfast was cleared away and the rest of the Weasley clan had come and gone, we Apparated to the campsite by the Quidditch stadium. As a player, my Apparition pass would allow me direct access to the changing rooms – the stadium was protected from general public Apparition for obvious reasons.

But I wanted to walk to the stadium with everyone else. I wasn't entirely sure _why_ – after all, just seeing the supporters reminded me of what I was about to be a part of, and that wasn't an entirely comforting feeling. But the atmosphere was something I'd never experienced before, and there was no chance of me missing out on it.

Of course we were noticed as we walked in. Dad was noticed everywhere he went, and we were a conspicuous group. Albus and Freddie flanked me, so nobody could get too close, but supporters called out their good luck wishes, and in the case of the Irish, asked me _not_ to win. It was all in good spirit though; that was the way with the magical community.

And one thing was for certain; there were a _lot_ of Irish supporters. This was a home final for England, and there were hoards of white and red amongst the masses, but there was also a large Irish community in Britain and yet more had come across the sea especially for the tournament. I suspected once we were in the stadium, it wouldn't feel much like home soil at all.

Once we reached the stadium, it was time to split from my family and head to the players' entrance. Mum and Dad both hugged me, Mum kissing my forehead. Maddie ruffled my hair, Kit punched my arm, and the four of them headed off for their box.

"World Cup final, eh?" Albus said. "Who'd have thought, when we were in Gryffindor practice sessions, that we'd be watching you play here three years later?"

"Pretty surreal, huh?" I smiled weakly.

"Enjoy it." He grinned back at me. "Win or lose, make sure you enjoy every minute of today, because it's not an opportunity you get every day, and if you don't savour the moment, you'll regret it. I mean, winning would be nice as well," he added, "but don't get too caught up in it all."

My smile widened slightly.

"Thanks, bro," I said. "You're alright, you know."

Lily tutted.

"_Boys_," she said, stepping forwards to wrap me in a hug. "Well done, Jimmy."

"Well done? The game's not even started yet!"

"For getting here, you dolt." She mimed smacking me round the head. "This is what you've always wanted, and I know how hard you've worked for it. Al's right; enjoy the moment. You deserve it, you really do."

"Thanks, Mini Potter." I flicked her lightly on her cheek.

Carlotta didn't say anything, simply stepping forwards and kissing me. She didn't need to say anything, and neither did I.

Freddie went to speak, but he was interrupted by a cry of "Jimmy!" and a flash of blonde. And then Brigid was there, throwing her arms round me and burying her head in my shoulder.

"Good luck," she whispered.

Another pair of arms enveloped us both, and Freddie's musky scent intermingled with Brigid's flowery perfume. For a moment I was transported back to our Hogwarts days, when the thought of playing for England had been one of my wildest dreams. Freddie and Brigid had believed in me more than anyone else, and no words could do justice to how much that meant to me. So I said nothing, and just hugged them both as tightly as possible.

All too soon, Brigid pulled away, and without another word, left as quickly as she'd come.

That was the cue for everyone else, and so, with one last smile, the four of them headed off up the stairs to the Top Box.

And I headed towards the changing rooms, to prepare for the biggest match of my life.

* * *

><p>"At least there won't be mascots," Cleo murmured. "Imagine those leprechauns of the Irish causing havoc everywhere."<p>

It had been a long tradition that the World Cup finalists would bring mascots, symbolising their national identity, but it had been banned by the International Quidditch Committee eight years ago, after the final between Bulgaria and Transylvania. Bulgaria had brought along their Veela, and Transylvania provided some particularly feral vampires. Needless to say, things got a little bit messy; it had taken countless officials to split the mascots up and with thousands of spectators injured, the game had nearly been called off. Broadcasters had pulled the live feed completely at the time, and to this day half an hour of the match couldn't be shown by the Quidditch Channel in repeats.

I was certainly relieved _that_ wasn't going to be a problem today. I had enough to think about as it was.

"We've done well, guys," Tamsin spoke up. "_Really_ well. And whatever happens today, this has been one of the best experiences of my life."

A murmur of assent went up around the changing room.

"Hear, hear," Michael said loudly, as Cato nodded.

We didn't have a pep talk today. None of us needed to be told what this meant, how big winning a World Cup was. None of us needed to be told we were in it as a team, win or lose. We'd been together for the last six weeks, working our hardest to get to this point. Now, it was all about what we did on that pitch. We all knew we had to play our hearts out, fight to the end and never give up. That was the kind of ethos any Quidditch player had to have; it wasn't something that could be drummed into you ten minutes before a match. It was the ethos which made or broke players.

It was the ethos that could see us lifting the World Cup.

With five minutes to go, Demelza propped open the changing room door. The almighty roar from outside hit us with a force I didn't think possible. Cato got to his feet and swung his arms round. Michael closed his eyes and started practicing imaginary saves. Jessica, who as Seeker, was far and away under the most pressure, took deep breaths in and out, in and out.

I gripped Fiona the Firebolt tightly. We'd come a long way together, she and I.

The commentator in the stadium was beginning to ramp up the atmosphere – as if the crowd needed encouragement. And then, all too soon, he was announcing the teams.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, give it up for the Irish National Quidditch Team!"

We got to our feet, ready to head out to the stadium after them.

"O'Hare! Murphy!" My stomach twinged. "Quigley! O'Sullivan! Lynch! Lynch! And Kiely!"

The crowd roared even louder.

It was our turn. We got in line, and Michael led us out of the changing room, down the corridor that led to the pitch. He mounted his broom, and we followed suit.

"And now, let's hear it for the English National Quidditch Team! Wood! Robins! Wood! Potter! Bagman! Bagman! And Birch!"

I kicked off after Emily, following her along the corridor – and into the stadium.

I could barely hear myself think, such was the intensity of the cheering. There was white and red and green everywhere, cheering and screaming intermingled with the national anthems which played from the flags sold before the game. The large scoreboard read, "IRELAND: ZERO, ENGLAND: ZERO."

The stage was set.

We lined up, fifty foot in the air, waiting for the referee to emerge with the box of balls. The Irish hovered opposite us.

It was an incredibly daunting – and horribly familiar – line-up that faced us. Brianna Kiely of the Kestrels was Ireland's Seeker; three years older than me, she'd played against me in Hufflepuff colours at Hogwarts. Her club team-mate Aiden O'Hare was Keeper; he'd left Hogwarts three months before I started and had been a stalwart on Hufflepuff's team. The Lynches I was all too familiar with.

Then there were my direct opponents, the Chasers. Aisling Quigley and Fiona O'Sullivan, the Lynches' teammates at the Bats, had also played for Ravenclaw together and were a formidable duo.

And Ryan.

I'd played my first game alongside him at the age of twelve. We'd played together for four school years straight. And then fresh out of Hogwarts, I'd played my first professional game alongside him. In the more than fifty matches I'd played for the Falcons, I'd only played without him once. We'd always been on the same team, always supported the same team, always wanted each other to win unconditionally.

I'd never played a game against him before.

And now here we were, on opposing sides, in the World Cup final. The biggest match a Quidditch player could play, and my mentor, my most regular teammate, one of my closest friends, wasn't only _not_ on _my_ side, he was playing against me. If I was to win, he had to lose. For the first time ever, we were going for a Quidditch Cup we couldn't _both_ win.

I knew he wanted this more than anything. And I hated the thought of being the one to get in his way. That I _had_ to get in his way, stop him from achieving one of his biggest dreams, if I were to achieve my own.

_That_ was the hardest thing about Quidditch. Not the training. Not the playing. Not the injuries, or the mental pressures, or the media attention. It was the camaraderie that came from being such a close-knit group within such a close-knit society, and the reality that if you personally wanted to win, you sometimes had to throw your friends' aspirations on the fire in order to achieve your own. I didn't give a damn about the Lynches, but Aisling and Brianna were two of my closest friends on the circuit, and Ryan meant the absolute world to me. I couldn't bear the thought of seeing them on the losing side.

But my teammates were relying on me, and I couldn't let them down. We'd become such a close bunch, and I knew every single one of them would be putting their bodies on the line for me. For _all_ of us. We played and fought as a team, and we would win or lose as a team. Today wasn't about Ryan; it _couldn't_ be about him. It was about Tamsin, Emily, Cleo, Cato and the rest of my England teammates.

Quidditch meant being ruthless. And today, I would have to be just that.

The referee strode onto the pitch, and set the balls down in the centre circle. My stomach twisted as he kicked the box open. The Snitch shot out; Jessica and Brianna both watched its path, but it was gone in a flash.

The Bludgers were released, and the Quaffle thrown up into the air. Then the referee kicked off into the air, and blew his whistle –and the game began.

Michael shot off to our posts, Aidan O'Hare speeding off in the opposite direction. The Bagmans and Lynches fought for control of the Bludgers. Jessica and Brianna shot upwards. And the six of us Chasers dove for the Quaffle.

Ireland liked sending Ryan in for the ball. He was by far the biggest of the Chasers, and could nudge smaller players out of the way as though they weren't even there.

So Tamsin and Emily had gallantly decided to send me into the fray.

It was no use diving in half-heartedly. If I wanted to win this first contest, I was going to have to show some intent. So I angled my broom, crouched down low over the handle – both to increase speed and to give Ryan less to aim at – and flew.

We reached the Quaffle at the same time, and I suppressed a groan as he slammed into me. I wasn't going to let him know it had hurt.

But despite the contact, I'd managed to get my fingers to the ball first. He reached out a split-second later, but determined not to give him even the slightest chance of snatching it from me, I tucked the Quaffle under my arm and dropped, swooping under him – he was fast on a broom, but I was more agile, and by the time he'd changed direction, I was away, and the ball was in Tamsin's hands.

It didn't stay with her for long; in a matter of seconds she'd passed to Emily, who passed back to me. As Aisling headed towards me, I dropped it down to Tamsin, who was flying across the pitch below me. Emily flew over my head, and Tamsin feigned a pass to her. Fiona shot across to intercept, but the pass never came, and Tamsin threw the Quaffle back to me-

Ryan collided with me, knocking the air out of my lungs and snatching the Quaffle before it reached me. He looped round and headed towards our posts, Aisling and Fiona hot on his heels. I swore, as I spun on the spot and stormed up the pitch after them. He passed to Aisling, who passed straight back to him as a Bludger headed her way; he threw the ball out to Fiona, who ducked Emily's attempted block and passed to Aisling. Tamsin got there first, and we all spun in the air once more. She passed to me, just as one of the Lynches hit a Bludger in my direction. Cato batted it away, directing it towards Ryan, and leaving me free to speed up, my eyes on the posts ahead.

I could sense Aisling and Fiona closing in from either side of me, but that didn't concern me; they were both far lighter than me, and I knew I could easily duck them too. I waited until they were within touching distance, then dropped, swooping underneath Aisling and throwing the Quaffle up; Emily shot above me, collecting it under her arm, and I swerved to the right to avoid the Bludger which one of the Lynches had aimed at me just a fraction too late.

By now the Quaffle was back with Tamsin, and she was clear to aim at the posts. She aimed for the right post – but O'Hare was too good to fall for it, and he saved her eventual throw towards the left post with ease.

I was out of breath already, and we'd barely been playing for thirty seconds.

The game continued in much the same vein, with neither Chaser attack able to gain an ascendency over the other. When either unit _did_ manage to create something, it was broken up by the Bludgers. If we managed to make it to the Irish posts, O'Hare stopped us scoring and Michael was proving just as successful at the other end of the pitch.

But finally a goal was scored – and it came from Aisling.

"Don't panic," Tamsin said breathlessly, as we took advantage of the small break in play to come together. "That was a good feint ... O'Hare would've fallen for it too ... we're keeping up with them, we'll pull level..."

And we did, not two minutes later, thanks to Emily's forceful throw, which grazed O'Hare's fingertips on its way through the right post.

So far, it was a relatively tame match, with no fouls or dirty play. Yes, there had been a few collisions, but they hadn't been deliberate Blatches, so the referee had let it slide.

But the Lynches clearly decided this wasn't enough, and moments later Eoin smacked the Quaffle from Tamsin's hands with his bat. From the look on her face, I was certain he caught her fingers too. She gritted her teeth, but didn't make a sound.

Fiona was below her, but made no move to catch the Quaffle, clearly disapproving of her teammate's tactic. The referee blew his whistle sharply, signalling a penalty to us.

I met Tamsin and Emily in the air, looking expectantly towards Tamsin, who always took our penalties – but she was looking back at me, shaking her head even as I opened my mouth to speak.

"You've got to take it, Jim. I can't feel my bloody fingers."

My eyes widened, and I looked across at Emily.

"You're a better shot one-on-one than I am," she said. "You take it. O'Hare's favouring his right, so aim for the right hoop. You'll be fine." She deftly caught the Quaffle that Ryan punted in our direction, and handed it to me.

I took a deep breath, as I glanced down at the red ball in my hands. If I scored, we'd go a goal ahead, and I'd plant the smallest seed of doubt into O'Hare's head. If I missed this, my first shot of the game, _I'd_ be the one worrying. If I scored, the English supporters would liven up even more. If I _missed_, the Irish supporters wouldn't let me forget it.

The pressure was on.

I swallowed, and wheeled round to face the Irish posts. I flew forwards, taking my position in front of O'Hare. The noise of the crowd seemed to escalate in my ears, as I felt every single eye upon me.

The referee blew his whistle.

I flew forwards, aiming for the right post. O'Hare followed me, but then I lunged left; he fell for the double-bluff, leaving the right post unguarded. The Quaffle passed through it with ease, and I let out a sigh of relief.

"POTTER SCORES!" I heard the commentator tell the crowd. "Twenty-ten to England..."

We didn't hold our lead for long. Ryan punched past our defence and threw the Quaffle just as Feargus hit a Bludger straight at Michael. Faced with a choice between letting the Quaffle through the posts and being smacked square in the face, he took the sensible option.

And so we were level once more.

The game grew fiercer and wilder. Us Chasers weren't likely to play dodgy, especially against a team we _liked_, but the Lynches had no such qualms, and the dirtier they got, the more Cato and Cleo retaliated. After all, they were Beaters, and once the blood started pumping they thrived on this sort of tactic.

Soon enough, they began targeting each other rather than the Chasers. At first it was just the Bludgers they were using, but it didn't take them long to realise it was easier to just use their bats. Within the space of a few minutes, Ireland were awarded three penalties, two scored and one saved, and we were awarded five. I took the first two, and scored with my first but missed with my second. Tamsin took the other three, having regained full use of her fingers, and scored two, but O'Hare saved the last. It left us ten points ahead.

Which didn't last long.

It hadn't occurred to us that the Lynches might try to use the Bagmans' tactic against them. I wasn't sure how it had happened, but somehow Eoin and Feargus managed to take possession of both Bludgers at the same time. They both swung within moments of each other, and it was obvious where they were headed, but Cleo couldn't dodge them both; the first missed her, but the second sent her flying off her broom.

Cato roared with fury and headed towards Eoin, who was closer to him. He seemed to have forgotten he had a bat, instead sinking his fists into Eoin's face. I swore loudly, turning sharply and speeding towards Cato. Ryan followed suit, and together we managed to pull him away.

"Leave it, mate," Ryan said, panting, "don't lose your head, you'll just give away a load of penalties..."

The referee had blown his whistle to halt the game, and mediwizards headed up to tend to Eoin, whose nose was most definitely broken. A larger group were on the ground surrounding Cleo; I wasn't sure if she'd fallen all the way or if they'd managed to break her fall.

The crowd was jeering loudly. The English were clearly incensed at the Lynches taking Cleo out – even if it was a legal move, it was one of those tactics that was unsportsmanlike unless your team benefited from it. The Irish were just as angry at Cato's reaction. Unfortunately for us, _that_ was most definitely not legal, and, as Ryan had said, the referee would penalise us for it.

He glanced across at me, and I shot him an appreciative smile. I probably wouldn't have been strong enough to pull Cato away by myself, and Ryan had had every right to leave him get into further trouble – after all, the more penalties Cato gave away, the better for Ireland. And I was sure Ryan enjoyed watching Eoin being beaten to a pulp just as much as I might have in a different situation. But he'd come to our rescue anyway, and by the looks of things, he was almost as concerned as I was about Cleo.

But I knew there would be a part of him that felt relieved. We were now a Beater down, and that left Cato with a huge amount to do. It certainly gave Ireland the upper hand, especially given that they'd have the chance to take the lead through penalties before the game restarted.

I glanced around the pitch for Jess, who was still circling above us looking for the Snitch. We were now relying on her more than ever, because I couldn't see us keeping level for very long now we were a Beater down.

Tamsin, Emily and Michael flew across to us, looking as concerned as I felt.

"Thanks, Murphy," Michael said tensely, nodding at Ryan. He nodded back, and released Cato's arm, giving him a pat on the shoulder, before leaving us to join Ireland's huddle.

"Sorry, Wood," Cato grunted. "I just saw red, you know? I mean, she's my _sister_-"

"I know," Michael interrupted. "It's fine; they'll probably get two for that, and I can save them both. It's what happens afterwards I'm worried about. They're going to target Jess, and there's only you to stop them-"

"I can guard her," he said.

Michael turned and shouted for Jess to join us. I frowned, and noticed Tamsin and Emily sharing a glance. Seekers _hated_ being pulled into team huddles.

But Jess obliged, looking only slightly bothered.

Michael kept it short.

"The Lynches are going to try to take you out now. Do you want Cato to guard you, or can you dodge?"

She hesitated for a moment. I suspected she was balancing up all the factors. If Cato guarded her, he might get in the way of her Snitch hunt. But if he _didn't_, she was going to be just as distracted by having to duck both Bludgers. The Lynches were probably going to all but sit on her, as they had no reason to be elsewhere.

If Cato guarded Jess, he couldn't protect us. And if the Lynches took advantage of that, and managed to take one of us out, it would give the Irish the chance to pull away by enough goals that the Snitch capture didn't matter. It was an awful position we found ourselves in.

"I think," she said slowly, looking anything but happy with her answer, "I'm going to need shadowing."

"We can manage without a Beater," Tamsin agreed. "Us Chasers aren't that fragile, you know."

Jess smiled feebly.

"I've got a plan," Cato spoke up, his eyes flashing.

"Will it work?" Michael asked.

"I don't know. It would be handy if it did, though."

The referee blew his whistle, signalling the end of the time out.

"Whatever it is, give it a go," Michael told Cato, as Jess sped off; she'd already spent too long away from her Snitch search. "But don't take too long with it; we need a Seeker!"

Cato nodded, before turning sharply and heading off.

Michael glanced at me, Tamsin and Emily. We were all looking rather the worse for wear.

"Prepare to duck," were his parting words to us, before he headed back to his posts to face the penalties.

He was right; Ireland were awarded two penalties. Aisling took the first, which he saved. But Fiona outwitted him with the second, leaving the scores equal.

Our teams, unfortunately, were rather less so.

Michael recovered the Quaffle and passed it back to me. I passed to Tamsin, but within moments there was yet another distraction. The best way to fire Cato up was apparently to threaten his sister. With a fire in his belly like nothing I'd ever seen from him before, he took possession of both Bludgers at once, and aimed two shots.

The first broke Feargus' right arm with a sickening _crack_, forcing him to drop his bat as he let out a loud cry of pain. The second took the handle clean off Brianna's broom, striking the wood where her hand had been only moments before. Both were left in the air, but Feargus had lost the use of his dominant arm, and Brianna now only had half a broom to steer and accelerate with. She was a fine flier, but even the best fliers could only do so much with a damaged broom.

The mediwizards weren't allowed to fix Feargus up. They could stop bleeding, as they had with Eoin only moments before, and they could see to concussions, but they couldn't _fix_ injuries. So Feargus had to play on, and though he could still use his left arm, he had infinitely less power and control behind his hits. Combined with the damage done to Brianna's broom, it was just enough to swing things back our way.

Tamsin passed to Emily, but Ryan intercepted it, shooting up the pitch towards Michael. Meanwhile, Eoin aimed a Bludger straight at Jess, but Cato was on hand just in time to deflect it; it shot across the posts in front of Michael just as Ryan aimed, and collided with the Quaffle. The Quaffle went spinning off in the opposite direction, and Tamsin deftly caught it, dodging Aisling and heading back up the pitch.

Cato and Eoin were soon consumed in a one-on-one battle, as Eoin tried to take out Jess and Cato tried to stop him. Feargus left them to it, focussing his attention on targeting us Chasers. His blows were easy to dodge; in fact they were as much trouble to his own players as to us.

And we just carried on, locked in a battle of attrition, neither team able to pull away from the other. If one team gained a lead, it wasn't long before the other would equalise. We were all growing tired and beginning to show the signs of a long, hard, brutal match. It was proving to be one of the toughest matches I'd ever played in. But that was only to be expected, given this was the biggest Quidditch match in existence.

The first rule of Quidditch for any player other than the Seeker was to ignore the Seeker at all times. The game wasn't over until the Snitch was caught, so to lose interest mid-match could cost points, and potentially the match itself. Even if the Seekers were engaged in the most intriguing of battles, nobody else was to look their way at the expense of their own responsibility.

But the World Cup had a funny ability to mess with one's emotions, and when Jess and Brianna suddenly went into a perilously deep dive, all six of us Chasers ground to a complete halt. The Quaffle was forgotten, as our only concern was about the result of this contest, the biggest contest of them all. Ireland were now a single goal ahead, so the result of the match would come down to whichever Seeker could make it to the Snitch first.

If they were even chasing the Snitch.

Brianna had been in front, and was doing well to master her broom given that she was missing half of it, but Jess had far better speed and steering. Ever so slowly, she grew level; both stretched out their arm at the same time; it was impossible to see who had the advantage, or even where the Snitch was...

And then Jess threw her fist in the air triumphantly, the commentator bellowed that England had won, and the crowd exploded.

At first the only thing I could feel was _relief_, that the match was over. Even as I flew across to Jess, it still only felt as though we'd just won another game of Quidditch. Michael collided with her first, whooping and hollering. Tamsin and Emily crashed into them at the same time, and I reached them moments later; Emily squeezed me tightly, ruffling my hair.

The five of us sank to the ground as one. Cato had headed straight to the side of the pitch where Cleo was jumping up and down with glee. He landed, threw his broom to the side and ran the last few steps towards her, picking her up and swinging her round in celebration.

Demelza, the reserves, Keira and the rest of the coaches sprinted across to us. Keira pulled me into a huge hug, and it still didn't sink in. Cato and Cleo finally joined the rest of us, Cleo looking unbalanced on her feet but utterly unperturbed by the fact, and still it didn't feel real.

The English crowd had gone nuts. People were jumping around in the stands, screaming and shouting and singing. The Irish were applauding gracefully, but they seemed devastated. The Irish players had formed their own huddle, looking utterly dejected. Feargus Lynch was having his arm fixed by the mediwizards, and a couple of the others were having scratches seeing to.

But none of my teammates seemed to care about their scrapes. They'd began to form a circle, and then on either side of me, Jess and Emily each grabbed a hand, and the next thing I knew we were madly galloping around, screaming and whooping and laughing. Even McLaggen looked happy.

The commentator was talking again, but I couldn't hear him, the noise on the pitch was too loud. It was only when Demelza shouted "The Cup, you need to get the Cup!" that I realised what was happening.

It was as though we'd forgotten we could fly there; we sprinted across the pitch to where the Irish team were filing up the stairs towards the Top Box. One by one, they were announced to the crowd, who cheered loudly in appreciation. I hollered as Ryan's name was called out and heard Cato and Cleo do the same.

And then it was our turn. We were still running up the stairs as the commentator announced us, and the crowd grew louder still.

The Top Box was bathed with light, and filled with wonderfully familiar faces. Albus, Freddie and Rose were standing on their seats, bellowing out an amended version of the old Gryffindor chant that had always been sung during our matches at Hogwarts – they'd replaced 'Gryffindor' with 'Eng-er-land'. Lily was sobbing; Carlotta had an arm around her shoulders and was grinning wildly. Even Scorpius Malfoy was jumping up and down on his seat, much to the apparent disgust of his father.

That was when it sank in; I'd just played in the World Cup Final, and _England had won_.

Michael took the Cup, and handed it straight to Jessica. She looked surprised, but held it aloft all the same; the cheers in the stadium grew explosively loud. She handed it to Tamsin, who also held it above her head, and then it was my turn, and all of a sudden I had in my hands the Holy Grail of Quidditch, the pinnacle of all wizarding sport and society, the _Quidditch World Cup_.

The cheers seemed louder still the moment I lifted the Cup. I wasn't sure why – was it because of my performance against Peru? Were there an abundance of Falcons fans in the stadium? Or, most likely, was it because of my surname? It was the kind of thing that always bothered me, that should have bothered me now. But for once, as I stood here clutching the greatest prize of all, the culmination of months of hard work and wild emotions, I didn't care a jot.


	62. sixty-two

The official after-party was being held at – where else? – the Drunken Hinkypunk. It didn't take us long to head there. Once we'd all lifted the Cup aloft, then done a few laps of honour round the pitch – Cleo on the back of Cato's broom, Michael and Emily hand-in-hand, Jessica and Gregory Ellis holding an England flag between them, and Tamsin holding the Cup itself – we hurriedly showered and changed, then downed a Firewhisky or three each.

And then it was off to the Hinky, which was already heaving when we arrived. Not that that was surprising; my family in itself was large enough to fill the place.

Nana Molly was the first to reach me; I suspected she'd been lying in wait at the front door. She pulled me into a tearful hug, and seemed lost for words.

"I'm glad you came." I hugged her back.

Grandpa Arthur was the next to congratulate me, with _words_, which was an improvement on Nana Molly, although his vocabulary seemed rather lessened than usual as well.

"World Cup winner!" he said triumphantly, clapping me on the shoulder. "Wonderful, just _wonderful_..."

I didn't need them to tell me they were proud. It was radiating off them, and it was the most amazing feeling in the world.

"Come for dinner tomorrow." Nana Molly finally found her voice. "We'll have all the family around. Bring Carlotta too..."

I grinned, and hugged her again.

"I'm looking forward to it," I said warmly.

They left after that; this wasn't their scene. I was just touched they'd ventured to the Hinky in the first place.

Albus, Hugo and Louis were the next to get to me. Louis had an impeccable knack of navigating his way through a throng of people.

"Mead time!" Hugo greeted me, shoving a bottle into my hand. I winced as I looked at the label – _Heidelberg_.

"Down it, Potter!" Louis said gleefully.

I hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and necked the bottle, much to my cousins' delight. They vanished after that, leaving me alone with Albus.

"I liked the chant," I said with a grin.

"Rosie's idea," he replied. "She tried to get Malfoy to join in, but it's a _Gryffindor_ thing, he didn't want to get involved."

I laughed.

"You survived the day with him though?"

"He's not all that bad, you know." Albus shrugged. From him, that was the highest praise. "But enough about _me_; you've just won the World Cup!"

My grin widened.

"I know; crazy, isn't it?"

"I always knew you had it in you." He punched my shoulder as he'd done before the match. "Watch out for Mum, by the way; she's a bit emotional."

"So's Lily, by the looks of things."

"Nah, she's good now. Mead's always the solution to these things. Anyway, I'd better leave you to your admirers."

"You staying for the night?"

He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Are you kidding? It's a free bar; of course I'm staying."

And with that, he was gone.

It wasn't a Weasley who approached me next, but rather Brigid.

"Well done, Jim," she said, hugging me once more. Her eyes looked red; I wasn't sure who she'd been crying for. "I'm sorry I've been distant this past week, it's just..."

"You don't need to explain it," I interrupted her. "I understand, really I do. And ... I'm sorry it was Ireland who lost..."

"One of you had to lose," she said with a sigh. "Still, at least that means one of you won, eh? I can still celebrate." She squeezed my hand tenderly. "You make sure you savour every minute of this, James Potter, because you deserve it more than anyone else..."

Her eyes were welling up again. I laughed, and pulled her into another hug.

"I love you, Brie," I murmured into her ear.

"Love you too, Jim," she whispered back.

Albus was right; Mum was in floods of tears when she finally made her way to me and flung her arms round my neck, telling me over and over again how proud and happy she was. He'd neglected to tell me Aunt Audrey, Roxanne, Lucy and Dominique were just as emotional. Although Dominique turned out to have an excuse.

"I'm pregnant!" she told me gleefully, taking both my hands in hers.

"Wow! Congrats, Dom!"

"Nobody knows yet. I didn't want to tell anyone until after the Final; we didn't want to steal any of your thunder. We haven't even told my parents yet! You're the first person to know."

I grinned.

"I'm honoured, I truly am."

"Of course, if you'd _lost_, you'd have been the last to know," she said cheekily. "Isn't it all so exciting! It now means I can't _drink_ tonight, but still..." She beamed, looking more beautiful than ever before. "I should probably go and save Ethan from the mead, I don't fancy nursing him tomorrow. You take care of yourself, Jimmy, I want to see you in one piece at the Burrow!"

I snickered as she headed off to look after her husband.

"Mead?"

Lily appeared at my elbow, clutching two bottles of the vicious drink.

I groaned.

"Hugo's already forced one down my throat-"

"Man up, Potter," she said, forcing it into my hand.

"Says the person who was in floods of tears in the Top Box," I pointed out with a cheeky smirk.

"I had something in my eye," she said smoothly.

"What was it, a flobberworm?" I teased her.

"Shut up, or I won't be nice sister, I'll be horrible sister," she threatened.

I laughed, and ruffled her hair. "Come on then, Mini P. Down on three."

In unison, we counted down then downed our drinks.

"I think I might regret this in the morning," she said, looking at the empty bottle. "Never mind, I'll live. Has Heidelberg mead killed anyone yet?" she added as an afterthought.

I laughed.

"You'd have to ask Della that, she's the mead expert. Is she here?"

"I saw her earlier. She was wearing a _dress_. Can you imagine that?"

I couldn't. Della in a dress was about as common a sight as Maddie in a dress, and I'd only seen _that_ once that I could recall.

"Anyway, well done Jimbo. You've done us all proud."

"Cheers, Lil," I replied with a grin. "Behave yourself!" I called after her as she disappeared into the crowd. She waved her hand airily in my direction.

"I don't know why I bother..." I muttered to myself.

"Jim!"

A pair of arms flung round my neck from behind me, and a head of red hair came into vision. It wasn't Weasley red though; it was England red. And there was only one person I knew who had the guts to wear his hair that colour.

"You've excelled yourself, Ted," I laughed. "I like it!"

"Much more fun than Falcon grey, isn't it?" he grinned. "I'm more of a Weasley than Vic now!"

"Suits you," I grinned. "Where _is_ Vic, anyway? You've not sent her home with the kids, have you?"

He snorted.

"Fat chance of me getting away with that one. Nan's babysitting for the night. Vic was doing shots with Roxanne the last I saw."

"Letting her hair down for the night, is she?"

"You know what she's like. Loves a good party. And still thinks she can drink like she's twenty."

I snorted.

"Anyway, how does it feel to be a World Cup winner?"

I smiled wryly.

"Not much different to not being one, to be honest," I admitted. "I mean, it's an amazing feeling to have _won_, don't get me wrong. But ... well, it's not like anything changes. I'm still the Quidditch-playing kid of the Boy Who Lived."

"I'm pretty sure your bank balance will change." He gave me a cheeky grin. "Think of all the teams that will pay _serious_ money to have you play for them this autumn! Not to mention all the teams in the British League – you could push your Falcons wage right up!"

"I don't need the money," I said, shrugging.

"Never say that. You don't know what might happen, and the last thing you want to do is regret ever turning down a pay rise."

"That's a bit of a morbid sentiment for the occasion, isn't it?"

"Alright, alright, I can take a hint." He was still grinning. "You did a damn fine job out there, Jim. I know you've probably heard a lot of people say you deserve this, but you really do. I remember when we all used to play Quidditch in the orchard by the Burrow; everybody else was just having fun, but you were always asking me to help you improve, trying to be as good as you possibly could. That's the mark of a true professional, of a true _champion_. And I know I'm spouting out some clichéd bullshit right now, but it's true."

I smiled, touched. No matter how often I received compliments on my Quidditch, I still found them awkward to accept.

"Thanks for all the help over the years, it really did ... well, _help_." I stuffed my hands in my pockets.

Teddy grinned.

"No worries. It's what brothers do, isn't it? Besides, you're teaching Dora now. Evens itself out in the end."

"It was only one afternoon-" I began.

"Oho, don't think you're escaping her clutches, Jim. She's _determined_ you're going to show her some more of your tricks, and you know what a determined Weasley woman is like."

I laughed, thinking fondly of my female relatives.

"Anyway, I'll leave you to your admirers." He winked, before turning and elbowing his way through the crowd.

There were still four people I hadn't seen, so I headed in the direction of the bar in search of one or more of them. Even if I didn't find them, I was in need of some liquid refreshment anyway. It was slow progress through the Hinky; everyone there seemed to want to congratulate me, and none of them seemed to understand I just wanted to find my best friends, girlfriend and dad.

Then I heard a triumphant cry of "Potter!" and I came to a halt, looking around me for the mass of black curls. Freddie came into view, clutching the World Cup of all things – how had he managed to get hold of _that_? – and thrust it into my hands.

"Drink up!" he said gleefully.

I groaned, looking into it to see a rather unpleasantly-coloured liquid inside.

"What's in it?" I asked dubiously.

"It'd be quicker to tell you what's not in there," he said. "It's all Carlotta's idea. Have you ever heard of a top-shelfer before?"

I raised an eyebrow at him.

"When you say it was her idea, do you mean she told you the concept and _you_ decided I was going to drink ... _this_ ... out of the Cup?"

"Details, details," he said airily. "Just drink up!"

I examined the cocktail for a second, then decided I was probably best off _not_ knowing what was in it. I took a step back so as not to take Freddie out, then tipped the Cup up and downed the contents, much to the joy of the patrons around us.

"That," I said once I'd swallowed, wiping my mouth with my arm, "was vile."

"I know, I've already had one." Freddie grinned wickedly. "Awesome match though, eh? Well, it was for us _watching_, until Cleo got taken out that is. I wouldn't have wanted to _play_ in it though. But..." He shook his head in disbelief. "Bloody hell, mate, you're a World Cup winner! And to think, we used to think the _Hogwarts_ Quidditch Cup was a big thing."

"It is," I said firmly. "And it always will be."

"Course it is! I didn't mean it's a rubbish thing to win ... I just meant, back when we were at school, just winning that Cup was big enough. Winning the _World Cup_ ... I mean, that was beyond our wildest dreams! And you've just done it! It's crazy." He shook his head again. "Oh, I've got a little bit of news myself, actually. Nowhere near as big as yours, of course, but-"

We were interrupted by Cato, who pulled us both into a rib-crushing hug.

"My favourite Weasleys!" he proclaimed. "Well, not quite my favourites, Roxanne and Lily probably take first spot-"

Freddie and I both puffed out our chests in a most manly fashion to protect our sisters' honour, but before we could say anything Cato was gone, taking the cup with him.

"Bloody Bagman," Freddie growled, though he only looked mildly bothered. Cato was harmless, really.

But then he remembered his news; it turned out he was being promoted.

"Mum and Dad want me to manage the Hogsmeade branch. Crazy, isn't it?" He was trying to sound nonchalant, but the smile threatening to break across his face betrayed him. "I told them I was planning on leaving, and they asked if I wanted a managerial post. Turns out this was always a part of their master plan. I hadn't realised it before, but ... well, I suppose it _was_. They've always involved me in the accounts and decision-making side of things, but I just thought that was because I was family, and they trusted me enough to delegate, you know? I didn't realise they were planning on giving me the Hogsmeade shop to run by myself..." He looked slightly bewildered at the thought. "I mean, they'll obviously remain in overall charge of the business, but I'll have a lot of responsibility over day-to-day stuff. And I'll get paid more too, _and_ I get the flat above the shop as well. I'm not sure if I'll actually live there, what with you and Brie both in London, but I suppose I could rent it out..."

He still looked utterly dumbstruck. I laughed, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Well done, mate," I said with a huge grin. "I guess you said yes in a heartbeat?"

"To be honest, I thought it was a joke at first," he admitted. "I mean, _me_ managing a shop? But then I realised they were being deadly serious, and when I thought about it I realised it was perfect. I _do_ love working at Wheezes, I just didn't want to be a shop boy all my life. But shop _manager_ is much better. I think Dad's got half an eye on the future, too; he wants the shop to stay in Weasley hands, and he sees me as the right person to carry things on when he's had enough. Which is ... well, it's daunting, I mean they obviously trust me a lot. But it's a nice thought, too."

"You'll be great at it, Freddo," I said with every ounce of truth. "Think of all the Hogwarts students you can corrupt, too!"

"I know; it's great, isn't it?" He grinned wickedly.

"Have you told Brie yet?"

"Not yet; she's seemed a bit flustered the last few days so I didn't want to bother her. You're the first person to know, aside from Roxie."

"You should tell her now," I suggested.

"Now? Really? I don't know, mate, Ireland have just lost-"

"So she needs some good news to perk her up, don't you think?" I interrupted.

"Yeah ... yeah, I guess..." He rubbed the back of his neck, his usual nervous tick.

"Go on, go tell her," I said, with an encouraging nudge in her direction. He smiled nervously, and headed off into the crowd. I watched him go, a smile spreading across my face. I just hoped his job success might give him more confidence in other areas of his life...

I continued to search for Dad, Carlotta and Ryan. I wasn't entirely sure whether it was wise to search out Ryan, whether he'd want to talk to me – or whether he was even _here_ for that matter. Luckily, he found me first.

"Well played, Jim," he said, smiling weakly.

"And you." I returned the smile awkwardly. "I just wish we could both have won..."

"That's sport for you," he said. "If I had to lose, I'm just glad it was to you. It makes it feel a bit less disappointing, knowing that at least one of us is on the winning side."

"It felt pretty rotten having to play you, though," I admitted. "Especially when I had to mark you..."

"I had a horrible feeling I'd be competing with you for the Quaffle at the start," he said, pulling a face. "Sorry if I bumped you a bit hard."

"It's fine. I'm a big boy, I can handle it." I paused. "Thanks for helping me out with Cato – you know, stopping him from beating Lynch to a pulp. I mean, it would have played into your hands if you'd left him..."

"I wasn't about to watch him completely lose his head," Ryan said. "At the end of the day, friendship comes before sport. And I knew he'd regret it in the cold light of day. He'd have done the same for me."

As would I. But I knew that went unsaid.

"We didn't know the Lynches had that planned, you know," he added. "None of us did. We all said we'd play it fair..."

"To be honest, I can't blame them." I shrugged. "We did the same to them in the League."

"I guess," he mused. "Still, when it's our Cleo who goes down..." He shook his head. "You know, I honestly thought we had you, then. I thought it was only a matter of time before the Lynches took Jessie Birch out, and even if they didn't I still backed Brianna to catch the Snitch first. But then _Cato_ ... I mean, he should have got Player."

Jess had been awarded Player of the Match in the end, to nobody's surprise.

"I guess they didn't want to give it to him because of the punching," I pondered. "But that was some hitting from him, wasn't it? He told us he had a plan, but I had no idea _that_ was it."

"He spun the game right back in your favour," Ryan agreed. "How he managed to get possession of both Bludgers, I have no idea. I'll have to watch the game back and work it out. But his _aim_ ... I mean, to take out half Brianna's broom and not touch her – he could have taken her out easily, she was completely unguarded and unaware. I wish he'd done more than break Feargus' arm, mind you," he added, "if we were going to lose anyway. To be front row as a Lynch gets knocked off his broom twice in a season ... that would've been something."

"I don't know; he had to play the rest of the match with a dud arm, didn't he? I'd say that was amusement enough," I reasoned.

Ryan wrinkled his nose.

"We're borderline _sadistic_," he pointed out.

"It's my boys!"

Della interrupted our conversation, appearing from nowhere and throwing an arm round each of our shoulders.

"Well done, kids, you both did yourselves proud," she said, beaming.

It seemed Lily had been right about her wardrobe choice.

"Bloody hell, Dell, you've got _legs_!" I exclaimed.

Ryan had apparently noticed this as well, judging by the look on his face.

"Oi! Just because you won today doesn't mean you get to be insolent!" She went to smack me playfully round the head, but I ducked, laughing. She winked at me, and I wiggled my eyebrows back.

"Your lady's at the bar, by the way," she added. "Told me that if I found you, I was to tell you that yes, she _would_ like to see you at some stage tonight, because she's beginning to forget what you look like."

I snickered.

"She's got far too much sass," I said fondly. "I'd better not keep her waiting any longer. Have a spectacular evening, don't do anything I wouldn't."

"Wouldn't dream of it," she said with a wicked grin.

Ryan said nothing, apparently still entranced by Della's dress. I figured I wouldn't get any more words out of him for a while, so I headed off again in search of Carlotta. But when I saw a head of distinctively messy black hair, I made a sharp diversion.

"Hi," I said once I reached Dad, "nice to meet you, I'm your son who's just won a World Cup..."

He laughed, and gave me a one-armed hug.

"You cheeky little brat, you. I thought I'd wait for everyone else to have their fill of you first. After all, you've got a lot of people to get round."

"Don't I know it," I said, pulling a face.

"Oh, don't be such a _misery_. Soak it up, you might not ever have this opportunity again."

He looked so full of pride and admiration. It was the look he always gave Albus or Lily when they'd achieved something, the look I'd always wished he'd give me. And now I realised he _had_ given me that look before, countless times, whenever I won a Quidditch match. I'd just never noticed it for what it was.

I didn't need him to say anything. His look said it all.

"Well done, kiddo," he said fondly. "Keep this up, and _you'll_ be getting the perks for _me_ before long."

I laughed.

"Don't get your hopes up. I don't think you're going to become 'James Potter's father' any time soon."

He pulled a face.

"A guy can dream, can't he?" He grinned. "Anyway, I won't hold you up. I think someone's waiting for you over there."

We were close enough to the bar that I could see it behind the people stood between us. More importantly, I could see the figure sitting on one of the bar stools, contently watching the goings-on.

"Seems a shame to leave a beautiful woman sitting by herself, doesn't it?" I said.

Dad laughed, and patted me on the shoulder.

"Off you go, Jim. Enjoy the night. And don't forget the Weasley dinner tomorrow!" he added to my retreating back.

I raised an arm in recognition of the comment, but I didn't stop. I squeezed my way past the last few people, then halted for a moment, soaking up the view.

Like most others here, she'd managed to change after the match, and was wearing a dress I hadn't seen before, but I definitely liked at first glance. Those _legs_...

She noticed me staring, and a smile played at the corners of her mouth. I strolled forwards, and sat down on the stool next to her.

"What's a pretty thing like you sitting by yourself for?" I asked; the line I'd used when I'd first met her.

"Waiting for a good-looking Quidditch player to come along and sweep me off my feet," she replied, winking.

"Well this must be your lucky day, because I so happen to be a good-looking Quidditch player," I shot back. "Can I get you a drink?"

"It's a free bar, but you can pay if you want."

I shook my head in mock disbelief.

"Foiled _again_!" I groaned.

She giggled.

"I can't believe I went for that line in the first place," she lamented.

"If I remember rightly, you didn't," I pointed out, "and you only gave in because I wouldn't give up."

She cocked her head to the side.

"I like that version of events," she declared. "So, do I get that drink?"

I grinned, spinning round to face the bar.

"Oh, and on the topic of drinks," I added, "did you _have_ to tell Freddie what a top-shelfer was?"

"Hey, that is _not_ my fault. You're not supposed to do them all at once..."

I snickered and pulled her close, kissing her.

"You taste of it," she murmured against my lips. "It's foul."

"Think of it as karma," I grinned, and kissed her again. "Bit of Firewhisky will soon fix the problem."

At that moment I got the bartender's attention, and within moments we each had a bottle of the drink in question.

"So, the Top Box was pretty cool," she said airily.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Is that it? I just won the World Cup, and all you can say is how good the Top Box was?"

She smiled and leaned forwards, taking my free hand in hers.

"Yes," she said simply. "Because I know you'd rather hear how my day was than hear me gush about how you won and isn't it amazing and you must feel incredible about it all."

I smiled, slightly taken-aback that, once more, she'd managed to hit the nail on the head.

But then, should I really have been that surprised?

"I'm really glad you enjoyed it," I said sincerely. "It must have been amazing to watch."

She grimaced.

"It was _awful_," she admitted. "I had no idea whether or not we were going to win, and every time I thought you guys were going to score they snatched the ball away, and then Cleo got knocked off ... it's a wonder I have any fingernails left." She paused. "You seem remarkably ... calm, for someone who's just won a World Cup."

"Do I?"

"Well, Cato's still drinking out of the Cup, Michael's lost his shirt, Emily and Jessica are dancing on a table, Tamsin is _still_ jumping around all over the place ... and you're sitting on a bar stool."

"Would you rather I wasn't here?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Not at all. I just remember how lively things were at the party after you won the League. Your celebrations now seem rather understated in comparison."

"I just don't feel like jumping around all over the place," I said shrugging. "I'm ... content."

"_Content_?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, we wanted to win, and we won. So I'm happy. Contented."

Truth be told, I was feeling a bit flat. The last few weeks had been so hectic, so emotional, that now it was all done with I didn't quite know what to do with myself. It was a peculiar feeling. After all, Carlotta was right; I'd just won a World Cup, shouldn't I be beside myself with excitement?

"I think Ryan's pretty contented right now as well," Carlotta giggled.

I looked round, and saw him and Della lip locked not far from where I'd left them.

"Bloody hell, _finally_!" I exclaimed.

"He deserves a bit of happiness of his own this evening, doesn't he?" she said pensively. "He looked like he didn't know what to think when he came into the Top Box after the match. I hope they don't have a no-dating clause where they're going, because I think they might find it hard to stick to that after tonight."

"Merlin, they'll be going at it like rabbits for ages. Bloody good thing it'll be on the other side of the world; hopefully they'll have calmed down by the next Falcons training session."

"When will that be, January?"

"Na, we'll have a couple of weeks in December in prep for the exhibition match against whoever wins the German League," I reminded her. "You've definitely got tomorrow off work, right?"

"Yes, why?"

"Because you've been invited to the-"

"Weasley dinner at the Burrow, yes, I know," she said with a smile. "Nana Molly told me about it earlier when we were waiting for you to turn up. She was _most_ insistent that I come along, you know."

"I bet she was," I said dryly. "The more the merrier."

I took another look round the Hinky, surveying the goings-on. The likely suspects – mainly Quidditch players and my family – were already well on their way to merriment. But most of my aunts and uncles were still here, along with numerous others from their generation and older still. I hadn't expected them to stay much longer, but they wanted to take advantage of the free bar to celebrate in their own understated way before heading home.

As I was looking round, my eyes fell on somebody familiar. And in that split second, an idea came to me, so quickly and fully formed it was as though it had been in my head the entire time. I paused for a moment, thinking it over.

"I'll be right back," I said to Carlotta, getting to my feet and placing my half-full bottle of Firewhisky on the bar counter. "Wait here."

"Because I've not been doing that all evening already," she pointed out, smirking.

I grinned, and bent down to kiss her cheek. Then I headed off into the fray.


	63. sixty-three

It was a good thing Carlotta's insomnia was causing her particular problems recently, as I had no chance of getting to sleep that night. My head was buzzing far too much. Instead, we stayed up baking all night. Or at least, she baked, and I attempted to help though I was probably more of a hindrance, given that I had _no_ idea what I was doing. But the result of the baking spree was a good one; shortbread, brownies, and my favourite – treacle tart.

"Maybe we should take it along for pudding later," Carlotta mused.

I glared at her, and pulled it close.

"Don't even think about it," I said darkly. "They wouldn't appreciate it. Especially not Hugo or Louis; good food is _wasted _on them. Make another one if you want, but _this_ one is mine."

"You regress to a five-year-old when food is involved," she said, sounding amused. "I might make a cup of tea, do you want one?"

"You just want to use my teapot," I smirked. "I'd love one."

"Do you think it knows any victory songs?"

"It used to know pretty much every Muggle song under the sun," I told her, as she pulled it out of the cupboard. "You've got no chance of it knowing anything other than Celestina these days unfortunately."

"Why do you _have_ it?"

"Freddie," I said simply.

"Ah," she said with a smile. "Say no more."

As she busied herself with the kettle, I pulled the winner's medal I'd been awarded out of my pocket and stared at it. I'd been doing this for hours now – just staring at it, revelling in the moment. It was incredible to think that it was mine, this wonderful medal with the words 'Quidditch World Cup Winners 2026' engraved around it. I'd spent the last four years aiming for this. Subconsciously, of course, I'd wanted it far longer. Now, here it sat in my hand.

I could never have imagined it would have happened so soon. It was like something out of my wildest dreams; making it to England standard in time for the home World Cup. But somehow, despite all the fallbacks, despite nearly losing my mind completely, I'd managed to achieve my most ambitious goal.

And now I was all out of goals.

"You can stare at it forever, it still won't start doing somersaults." Carlotta's amused voice startled me out of my wistful thoughts.

"Wanna bet?" I grinned, picked my wand up from the table beside me and pointed it at the medal. It proceeded to perform a selection of acrobatics, nearly taking out my waltzing milk jug as it went.

Carlotta laughed, her eyes dancing with glee as they always did when someone performed magic.

"Okay, so that turn of phrase doesn't work on magical people." She filled the teapot with hot water from the kettle. "So." She set the teapot down in front of me, and sat opposite me. "What next for James Potter?"

I set my wand down and picked up the medal once more.

"I need a new goal," I said simply, then looked up at her, smiling. "And I think I have one."

* * *

><p>A more sociable hour of the morning found me knocking on Sinead Murphy's front door. I'd rang her in advance, and she'd sounded tired and grumpy but had welcomed me over nevertheless.<p>

It was Brendan Murphy who opened the door to me, and he smiled warmly, despite my having beaten his son to the World Cup just the day before. He offered me his congratulations on the result as he led me through to the living room, where Sinead was sitting with the largest mug of coffee I'd ever seen. After offering me a drink, he headed out of the room, leaving the two of us alone.

"Is everything alright?" she asked me straight away.

"Yeah, it's fine, why wouldn't it be?" I frowned, as I sat down opposite her.

"You called me at nine in the morning the day after you won the World Cup. I can't imagine you've come round to finalise your contract extension." She gave me a piercing look. "You don't seem nearly as hungover as you should be."

I tried – and failed – to suppress the smirk.

"You mean, I'm not as hungover as you? I didn't drink much and I haven't slept yet, I expect that's what it is. You didn't touch the mead, did you?"

"I swear, right now I'd kick Adelheid Brand off the bloody team if I didn't think Ryan would follow her ass anywhere she went," she growled. But the corners of her mouth twitched slightly, giving her away.

"You, er, saw them last night then..."

She snorted.

"Course I did; I could hardly miss it, could I? They couldn't keep their hands off each other all night. About bloody time, too. And as for Brigid – oh, this'll be her now."

The front door had opened, and then shut again. Sure enough, moments later Brigid joined us in the living room, looking as bemused as her mother.

"Jim? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing at all," I reassured her. "I just wanted to talk to you both about something, that's all."

She frowned, and took a seat.

"_Today_?"

"That's what I said," Sinead agreed. "Well, fire away, Jim."

I drew in a deep breath. I'd been practicing what I was planning to say for hours now, and I'd thought I'd got it sorted in my head. But now it came down to it, I realised how big a move I was making. I knew it was the right one, but it was only now it was really hitting home.

"I want to retire."

There was a stunned silence. Brigid's jaw dropped open.

"Retire?" she said eventually, dumbstruck. "As in, completely? Like, no more Quidditch?"

"No more playing Quidditch."

There was a part of me that couldn't quite believe what I'd just said, what I'd just done. The whole time I'd been mulling it over – when had the idea even come to mind? – it had only been a thought, an option. But now I'd finally voiced it ... it was reality. It was actually happening.

I was retiring from playing Quidditch.

Brigid still looked utterly lost for words. Sinead, on the other hand, smiled ever so slightly.

"Well, I'll be sad to see you go, Jimmy, but it's your decision," she said. "So long as you're sure it's the right one. And if you decide it's the wrong one, you can always come back. We'll always find room in the squad for you."

I nodded.

"Thanks, Sinead," I said. "And ... thanks for giving me a chance. Most people wouldn't have gambled on me so early, but you did, and I can't thank you enough for that, because otherwise I doubt I'd be where I am now."

Her smile widened.

"You're a talent, Jim," she said. "If anyone's worth it, you are. It's a shame, because there's still so much potential there ... but you need to do what you think is right first and foremost, and I'll respect that decision a hundred percent." She paused. "Besides, on a selfish note, it saves me the headache of having to juggle four top class Chasers next season. I won't lie, I wasn't looking forward to that challenge."

"Roxie will be happy; she'll be able to play every game now," I grinned.

"She'll be better than you one day, mark my words," Sinead said.

She got to her feet. "I need more coffee. I'll leave you two to work out the details." She bent down and planted a kiss on Brigid's forehead. "And don't you go anywhere, pumpkin. You're staying for lunch and a good old mother-daughter chinwag."

Her route through the room to the kitchen took her past me and she paused in front of me, resting a hand lightly on the top of my head.

"Sometimes," she said quietly, "someone comes along who has all the perfect attributes to be a Quidditch player. But put them together, and ... the pieces don't always fit. You've had too much attention, too much scrutiny on you, and it would be enough to make even the strongest of people crack. Deep down I think I figured it was only a matter of time before you realised maybe this just wasn't for you. And I'm proud of you, because this ... this is what you dreamed of for years. And now you have it. And you're letting it go. It takes a big person to do something like that."

She paused, looking as emotional as I'd ever seen her.

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "For everything. And ... you'll always be a Falcon."

She lowered her hand to my shoulder and squeezed it lightly, before leaving the room.

"Your mother really is wonderful," I said, turning back to Brigid. She was looking down at the floor. "Brie?"

She raised her head; her eyes were glassy, and clearly full of tears.

"We were good, weren't we?" she said thickly, as a tear rolled down her cheek.

It felt horribly like a break up.

"Yeah," I said, smiling slightly. "You were the best, Brie." I hesitated. "You ... I mean ... I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about this-"

"Oh, _James_," she said fondly. "You don't have to tell me everything you're thinking, you know-"

"But you're my best friend," I pointed out. "Completely disregarding for a moment that you're my agent, you're my friend and you've always been there for me and I didn't tell you I was thinking about doing this-"

"Did you tell _anyone_?" she asked. "Freddie, Lily, your mum, Carlotta..."

"I haven't talked to anyone about it," I admitted. "I didn't even tell Carlotta before I left to come here, just said I needed to talk to you both about something. I expect she's guessed, though. I ... well, I didn't even realise I was thinking about it, not until last night. When I was wondering why I felt so _empty_, compared to the other players. Compared to _everyone_. And I realised, it's because I've done all I set out to do. I've helped the Falcons win the league, I've helped England win the World Cup, I'd like to think I've helped other players along the way too ... I mean, I'll never stop wanting the Falcons to win, or England. I just don't think I'm the one to do it. The attention is so _stifling_, and if I carry on playing it'll only get worse. I've just won a World Cup, for Merlin's sake! And I don't want all the front page spreads, all the corporate perks and the sponsorship deals ... I just want to play Quidditch! And I want to _enjoy_ it. And for as long as the _Prophet_ and _Which Broomstick?_ and _Witch Weekly_ are around and I'm Harry Potter's son, I don't think I'll be able to. Not properly."

I didn't even know where those words had come from. I'd just _talked_, getting it off my chest for the first time in ages.

"I hid you from a lot of the reporters," she admitted, looking slightly sheepish. "Everyone and his crup wanted to talk to you, but I knew you wouldn't want that, so Demelza and I agreed to keep you shielded from it. If you still found it stifling ... I think you're making the right decision."

I stared at her, filled with love and adoration for this incredible, beautiful woman I was lucky enough to call a friend.

"You really did that?"

She let out a short laugh.

"Of course I did, Jim! I'd be a terrible friend _and_ agent if I just gave them all access to you knowing full well how much you hate it, wouldn't I?" She paused. "Is there anything else you want me to do? Let me know when you want it announced. We're in the closed season now, so we can wait a bit for all the furore of the World Cup to die down. Then once it's announced I'll manage the media for you. Everyone will want interviews so I'll keep them at bay-"

"Brie, you don't need to do anything," I said firmly. "You've already done more than enough for me over the years. I don't want it announced. People will learn within the next day or so anyway; let them wonder. And in time, I might put out a statement or something. But for now, I want to pretend I don't need to worry about the press."

She smiled fondly.

"That's my boy," she said. "And ... well, thank you. For giving me a chance, an opportunity. I mean, you were looking to make a name for yourself in the Quidditch world, and there are so many renowned agents around, willing to work for you, and you opted for the eighteen year old, just out of school with no players to her name. I'm doing well now ... but it was because of you, at the beginning. So thank you."

"I owe you, Brie, you put me with the best team in the league," I grinned.

She laughed.

"James, my mother practically forced the contract into my hands! Trust me, it was _your_ skill, not mine, that got you the position."

"But you sorted all the paperwork and whatnot out for me," I pointed out. "I didn't have a clue how that worked – I still don't, to be honest. So whether I was in demand or not, I couldn't have done it without you."

"We helped each other then, let's come to a consensus on that."

"I can do that." I paused. "Enough about me, though. Did Freddie talk to you last night?"

Her cheeks coloured ever so slightly.

"He did. A lot."

"Oh?"

"Well, he told me about his promotion – oh, isn't it wonderful? I _told_ him he could do it, if he only believed in himself – and then he apologised to me, for everything he'd done. He ... well, he got rather fixated on it, to be honest. He'd said sorry before, of course, when we first talked about it, but ... well, you've seen how he's been around me, he wouldn't _let_ me forgive him!"

"He wanted to keep his distance alright," I agreed. "But that was him trying to be noble..."

"He really is ridiculous." She beamed, looking happier than I'd seen her in ages. "Of course I was angry with him at first, but I couldn't stay angry with him for long. He's _Freddie_. And yes, he's made me cry over the years, but ... I mean, he wants me to be happy, and while he was a total idiot about it ... last night he apologised so much, and in so many different ways, that I nearly Silenced him. And when we left the Hinky he came back to mine, and we just played Gobstones and Exploding Snap and chess and _talked_, about absolutely anything and everything. It was like being back at school, before everything went wrong."

"Did he sleep round yours?" I asked, smirking cheekily.

"_James_! After all I've just blurted out, of all the things you could have asked, you want to know if I had sex with him? You are _such_ a bloke-"

"Hey, I didn't say anything about sex!" I held my hands up in mock-protest. "_You're_ the one who assumed I meant that – is that a guilty conscience?"

"If I _had_ slept with him, I'd hardly be feeling guilty about it, would I?" She raised an eyebrow. "He _did_ sleep round mine, though. He wasn't going to, but ... well, I wanted him to." Her cheeks went pinker. "It's ... it's nice, you know? Just lying in bed with someone..."

"I know," I said simply. "You don't need to try to explain it, not to me."

She smiled at me.

"What do you know, my Jimmy boy's in love..."

"Don't start throwing that word about," I warned her.

"Oh, stop being such a relationship-phobe!" she teased me. "Honestly, you and Carlotta are as bad as each other-"

"What do you know about what she's like?"

"Sweetie, I tell her she's in love with you on a regular basis. She denies it as much as you do."

"You get far too much joy from other people's love lives," I said, smiling nevertheless. "Oh, come here, Mini Murph." I got to my feet and took her hands, pulling her upright, then wrapped her in a hug and kissed her forehead. She made a noise which could have been a giggle or a sob, wrapping her arms round my waist, and I buried my head in her hair.

"I'm so proud of you," I murmured. "You've always been so, so strong..."

"And so have you," she whispered back, squeezing me tighter. "You should go," she added, "or you'll be late for lunch."

"Yeah." I smiled sadly. I loosened my arms and she pulled away, wiping her eyes. "You coming? Other halves allowed, you know."

"I don't want to rush things," she said. "Hopefully I'll be at the next one though."

"I'm sure you will. You gonna be okay?"

"I'll be fine." She smiled back at me. "Go on, off with you."

I laughed, blew her a kiss, and Disapparated.

* * *

><p>My flat was empty when I returned to it. I could only guess Carlotta had somehow headed to the Burrow, so that was my next destination. I Apparated into the front garden and let myself in through the front door.<p>

It was fairly packed with Weasleys already. My whole family had apparently decided to endure their sore heads together. Lily was the first to see me as I poked my head into the living room.

"Where the hell have you been?"

I raised an eyebrow.

"Nice to see you too," I said dryly. "How's the head?"

"Banging. Never drinking that mead again. Yours?"

"I'm fine," I smirked. "Pepperup doesn't work on that Hindelberg stuff, you know-"

"I know," she said darkly. "I'm never talking to Dell again. Ever."

I snickered, as I looked round the living room. Albus and most of my cousins looked just as bad as she did. Uncles Bill, George and Ron, and Aunts Audrey and Angelina also looked slightly under the weather.

"Carlotta's in the kitchen," Lily said, as though she'd read my mind. "Flooed here about half an hour ago."

"Floo?" I blinked. "Well, I suppose I'd better go and check she made it here in one piece..."

"Pretty sure you can't splinch while Flooing!" were her parting words to me.

I ventured into the kitchen, and found Carlotta with perhaps my only sober cousins, Dominique and Molly, helping Nana Molly with the cooking. She had her back to the door, so she didn't realise I was there until I crept up behind her and placed my hands on her waist.

"James!" she yelped, turning to face me. "Don't _do_ that, you nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Did you Floo here by yourself?"

"Well, I can hardly Apparate, can I?" she pointed out.

"But ... you haven't Flooed before..."

She shrugged.

"I've watched you enough times. Figured it couldn't be too hard, so long as I didn't breathe in any ash."

"You need to share Floo stories with Dad," I said, amused.

"Oh, we already have."

Oddly enough, that didn't surprise me.

"How did the mysterious talk go?" she added.

"It was fine-"

"James, if you're going to clutter up the kitchen then make yourself useful and set the table!" Dominique ordered, thrusting a handful of cutlery into my chest.

I looked apologetically at Carlotta.

"We'll talk later," I promised.

After all, we had all the time in the world to talk.

* * *

><p>Once the dinner plates had all been cleared, and Carlotta's second and third treacle tarts had been devoured – she promised me she'd put the first safely away in my kitchen – I decided to tell the family what I'd done.<p>

"I'm retiring from Quidditch."

Their reactions were as I'd expected. Mum dropped her spoon in shock. Freddie frowned in confusion. Lily looked ready to cry. Lucy let out a yelp. Aunt Angelina's jaw dropped. Uncle Percy nodded approvingly. Aunt Audrey sighed sadly.

And Dad just looked at me knowingly. And then he grinned at me.

That was what told me I'd made the right choice.

Albus was the first to find his voice.

"Why?"

Carlotta squeezed my thigh comfortingly under the table.

"I just don't think it's for me anymore." I shrugged.

"James," Aunt Angelina said, "you just won the World Cup. You were player of the match against Peru. You were one of the players of the tournament. How is this not for you?"

"Well ... maybe it's not that it's not for me. Maybe I'm not for it. Sinead said earlier that I had all the attributes to be a pro, but the pieces just didn't fit together. I think that sums it up."

A few people frowned, trying to make sense of what I'd said.

"I just don't think Quidditch agrees with me as a professional sport. I think we all realised that a few months ago. And while I managed to pick things back up again ... well, I think now's the right time for a change."

Carlotta's grip on my leg tightened.

"What are you going to do, then?" Freddie asked.

"I've got a new job."

Choruses of "Already?" echoed round the table.

"What is it?" Aunt Hermione asked.

"You'll find out tomorrow," I said cryptically.

"What did Sinead say?" Mum asked.

"She was ... a bit upset," I said. "But she was almost expecting it, I think."

"So will she have to find another Chaser now?" Louis asked.

"Oh, Louis, have some faith in your cousin," I teased, a grin spreading over my face. "Why would she need to find anyone else? She's got Roxie."

There was a loud _clang_ as Roxanne dropped her spoon onto her plate, and a high-pitched squeal as Aunt Angelina realised that her daughter had just become a first-choice Chaser for the Falcons. A moment later, Roxanne was buried under a pile of Weasleys, who all reached out to hug her in celebration.

I took the moment to get to my feet, pulling Carlotta up with me. I steered her towards the living room, but Dad intercepted us at the door.

He looked at me for a moment, before clapping a hand on my shoulder.

"Well done, Jim," was all he said.

But it was enough.

"Thanks," I said, grinning widely. "But don't be too pleased with me; I think I'll be racking your brains before long for tips on my new job."

And with that clue hanging in the air, I left him in the kitchen, pulling Carlotta into the living room and shutting the door behind us.

"I – are you okay?" I asked, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly. "I – you're not mad, are you?"

She stared at me incredulously, before letting out a laugh.

"Mad? Why the hell should I be mad? It's your decision."

"Yeah, but I didn't even tell you I was thinking about it-"

"Your decision," she repeated. "Whatever you do, so long as you're happy, I'm happy. Besides," she said with a smile, "it's not as though it came out of the blue. Not for me, anyway. How long have you been thinking about it?"

I shrugged.

"I'm not sure," I said. "I think it's been there in the back of my mind for a while now, you know? Things happening here and there to make me rethink things." I paused. "I only turned pro because I wanted to play Quidditch. I didn't care for the fame, or the money, or the lifestyle, I just love _Quidditch_, and couldn't think of anything else I could do with my life. But ... I don't want to be front page of all the tabloids just because I've sneezed, you know? And if I keep myself in the public eye, then that's what's going to carry on happening. Not because I'm any good as a Quidditch player, but because I'm a Potter. It just so happens that I have a job which lets the media exploit that. _Had_ a job," I corrected. "I never _stopped_ enjoying playing for the Falcons, and I know I'll miss them more than anything. I loved playing for England too. But this seems like the right time to move on. I've just won a hat-trick of League titles, and a World Cup on home soil. Nothing I do can possibly top that. I've achieved everything I possibly can as a pro player. I don't feel like I'm giving anything up."

Carlotta smiled slightly.

"Except the ability to play Quidditch every day."

"That's what you think." I tapped her nose lightly. "There's one more thing I need to do, want to come along?"

She shrugged.

"Sure."

I wrapped my arms round her.

"Brace yourself," I said, before Disapparating.

My living room materialised around us. Carlotta took a few heavy breaths, as she always did when I Apparated with her. When she regained her composure, she blinked in surprise as she realised where we were.

"This is your flat," she said.

"Never miss a trick, you," I said, heading to the airing cupboard. "Oh, on that note, I've got a question for you. Do you fancy moving in with me?"

"What?"

I turned to face her as I opened the cupboard door.

"Well, I say move in with me, I won't be here much – unless I can wangle it so I still live here all year round, which I'm hoping I can do – but even so, the principle's still the same, right? I'm not asking just so there's someone here, by the way. I do genuinely want you to move in, but it seems like a good time to ask, now I've got everything straight in my head – my priorities have changed a bit, you know? But it's cool if you don't, I mean-"

"You're rambling," she interrupted in an amused voice.

"Oh," I said awkwardly. "Sorry."

She smiled slightly.

"Well, Flick has been dropping unsubtle hints for the past two months that she wants to move in with her boyfriend. And you give good massages. And you have a much bigger kitchen than I do, and a much comfier bed, and more television channels ... so, I guess I'll just have to say yes."

"Really?"

She nodded, her smile growing.

"Brilliant!" I snatched Fiona out of the airing cupboard, then crossed the living room and pulled Carlotta into a deep kiss. She squealed under my lips, but returned the kiss with gusto. And when she finally pulled away, she rested her forehead against mine, her eyes still tightly shut, her fingers loosely teasing at my hair.

"Why do you have your broom?" she asked eventually.

"You'll see," I said. "Brace."

She wrapped her arms tighter round my neck as we Disapparated again.

"I hate Apparition," she muttered once we'd Apparated with a pop and she'd gotten her breath back.

"Well, it's not meant for Muggles," I pointed out.

"If that's how it feels for everyone, it's not meant for wizards either." She glanced round our surroundings. "Are you introducing me to your other grandparents?"

"I figured it was about time."

I took her hand and led her through the graveyard we'd Apparated into, until we reached my grandparents' gravestone. I dropped to the floor, and sat cross-legged in front of it, patting the ground next to me; Carlotta followed suit.

"Hi," I said to the gravestone. "Decided you two deserved a visit."

I put Fiona down in front of me.

"You know," I said, "I wouldn't be here today, on two counts, if not for you two. My Quidditch talent ... Mum's a damn good Chaser, obviously. But ... well, I owe my success to more than that. I got to play for England because of my flying ability. People have always said that Dad was the best flier of his generation, that nobody rivalled him for pure skill on a broomstick. And he got that from you, Granddad James. I wouldn't be the player I am today, I wouldn't have that medal, without you. So, I owe my success to you."

I paused.

"And, it's thanks to you, Grandma Lily, that I'm even alive. You sacrificed herself for Dad, and because of what you did, he's got a wife. And three kids. And ... well, I know Al and Lily have made him proud. I'd like to think I have too. I mean, I know I've messed up a fair bit, especially this year, but ... I helped win a World Cup, didn't I? I'd like to think that's something to be proud of. So ... thank you. Thank you both."

Carlotta slipped her hand in mine. I squeezed it tightly, just staring at the gravestone, at the spot under which my grandparents lay.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed before I stood up, helping Carlotta to her feet.

"There's one last thing I need to do," I said, glancing round to check nobody was around. I then drew my wand, and, with a slightly shaking hand, pointed it at Fiona. "_Incendio_."

Carlotta stifled a gasp as flames shot out of the end of my wand, engulfing Fiona. I cast a Shield Charm on the flames to keep them contained. After a short while, they died away, leaving a pile of ashes behind them.

"Oh, James..." she whispered.

I knelt down, placing my wand beside me, and dug a shallow hole right in front of the gravestone with my hands. I then pushed the ashes into the hole, before filling it up again, smoothing over the top. I picked up my wand and pointed it at the spot where Fiona lay; a small white lily grew up from the spot. Impressed at my own handiwork, I pocketed my wand, and stood up.

"Thanks for everything, Fi," I said, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

Carlotta once again took my hand.

"Come on, I want to show you something," I said.

We left the graveyard, heading through the church grounds to the square.

"Where is this place?" she asked curiously.

"Godric's Hollow," I replied. "Where my grandparents lived. And died." We came to a halt in front of the war memorial, that I saw as the statue of my grandparents and dad. I moved to stand behind her, my hands round her waist. "Look at it," I breathed into her ear. "Really look at it, like you do with the Quidditch stadium."

After a moment, she gasped.

"Oh, James, that's so beautiful..."

She tailed off, her fingers interlinking with mine.

"And Muggles can't see it?"

"You can," I pointed out. "Same enchantments as the other places. You can see it if you tell your mind there's something there."

"How long's it been there?"

"Dad discovered it when he was seventeen. I don't know how long before that it was built, but I guess it was shortly after Grandma and Granddad died."

She nodded.

"You know," she said slowly, "I always had a feeling you wouldn't play Quidditch for much longer. I remember when you came back after England training. It was the day you'd been to the hospital, to see the kids. And all you could talk about, all night, was the coaching session you guys had given. You didn't even remember to tell me you'd been named in the starting team until the next morning. And ... I think that sums it up. It shows what _really_ matters to you, underneath it all. It's not about personal glory, it's about the game in its purest form. And ... well, I think that's a pretty wonderful way to be." She paused. "What do you think your family will think about you retiring?"

I wrinkled my nose, considering it for a moment. "I think, on the face of it, they'll be sad. And a bit puzzled. I mean, why retire now when I'm doing so well? But in time, I hope they'll understand why. I think Al and Lily will, and Freddie. Mum will understand best of all."

"Really?" Carlotta seemed surprised. "But, she played..."

"Exactly," I said simply. "I always used to wonder why she'd retired so early on. She never played for England, you know, although everyone used to say she was good enough to. And I could never understand why anyone would choose to retire before having had that experience. Surely, anyone who loves Quidditch enough to make it their career wants to get as far as they possibly can? An England career at your fingertips ... why let it slip away?

"But she didn't play Quidditch for the glory. She played it because she enjoyed it. And when it came down to a Quidditch career or her family, she wanted the family lifestyle more. To this day, she doesn't feel as though she's given anything up. And neither do I." I kissed the top of Carlotta's head. "One last thing to see."

It took a bit longer for her to be able to see the house. However, once I'd placed her hand on the gate, and the memorial plaque appeared, she let out a gasp which let me know that she could see what I could; the cottage, with half its first floor blown apart, ivy covering the remaining walls.

"Is ... is this where it happened?"

I nodded.

She turned to me and wrapped her arms round my waist, burying her head in my chest. I hugged her back, burying my head in her hair as I'd done with Brigid earlier.

"I'm sure they're very proud of you," she said, turning her head to the side so as to speak. "I know I am."

"I should think so too." I tightened my grip round her shoulders, not wanting to let her go.

After a moment or two, I spoke again.

"Do you know what time Quality Quidditch Supplies shuts on a Sunday? I need a new broom."

* * *

><p><em><em>AN: Don't kill me! *hides* I've known since FOREVER that James was going to retire at this point. I'm sure there are a fair few of you who want to throw things at me right now but I hope it comes to make sense to you all in time. For what it's worth, this is one of my favourite chapters. :)__

__Thank you so much to anyone who's reviewed, it's lovely to know people are reading this. :) O____ne more chapter to come...__


	64. epilogue

_One year later_

"So." A pause. "You nervous?"

A second pause.

"No. No, I'm not."

"I don't believe you."

A laugh. A nervous laugh.

I stared at both my reflection and Freddie's in the mirror in front of us.

"You remember Ted and Vic's wedding?"

He laughed.

"What, when we swore we'd never do such a silly thing?"

I grinned at the memory.

"Yeah," I said. "That one."

"Funny how things change, eh?" He paused again. "This isn't going to change things, is it? Between us?"

It was my turn to laugh.

"Mate, I'm still gonna be round yours every free Saturday to watch the Quidditch. Trust me, this changes nothing for me."

He nodded slowly.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in!" I called.

Maddie popped her head round the door.

"Nana Molly sent me to round you two fine young men up." Her eyes fell on me. "James, your collar's-"

"A mess, I know," I finished, raising my hands to my neck. "I'll sort it-"

"_I've_ got it." She crossed the room to me and slapped my hands down, before adjusting it herself. "Your hair's a mess too, you know."

"That's a perk of being a Potter, now hush it, Bennett."

She laughed, and turned to Freddie.

"Perfect!" she pronounced. "Now come on, before the matriarch has kittens."

She led us out of Uncle Bill's old room, to the marquee that was once again set up in the garden outside. Lily had joked it could set up full time residence there, the rate us grandchildren were getting married – Molly's wedding was in a month's time.

We walked round the marquee to enter at the front. Maddie squeezed both our hands lightly before darting off to find her seat, which was several rows back, next to Kit.

Everyone fell silent when we appeared, their eyes and bodies swivelling to the front to face us.

"There's a lot of people here..." I murmured.

"Mmm," was Freddie's reply.

The old wizard who'd presided over Victoire and Dominique's weddings had finally died, and his place had been taken by another wizard who looked just as old. He joined us at the front of the marquee, as the band began to play, and movement at the entrance caught my eye.

I turned my head to the back of the marquee, and the guests followed suit. My jaw dropped open as my eyes fell on the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen.

Carlotta positively glided up the aisle, clutching a small bouquet of flowers and smiling from ear to ear. My eyes followed her the entire way up the aisle, until she came to a halt opposite me.

"You look beautiful," I mouthed to her.

Her smile grew, if possible, even wider.

"Eyes on the bride!" was her response.

I grinned, and turned my head back to see Roxanne, Aisling and Brianna filing up the aisle to join Carlotta, and behind them, looking happier and more stunning than ever before, was Brigid, on her father's arm.

"Bloody hell," I heard Freddie mutter under his breath, as he caught sight of his soon-to-be wife.

Brigid glanced at me as she passed, and flashed me a quick beaming smile, but her eyes soon found Freddie again.

"We are gathered here today..."

And for the first time ever, I paid attention to the ceremony. Admittedly, it was partly because I was best man and it would be wrong of me to zone out, but I'd also been waiting on this day for at least six years, and now that it was here, I was determined not to miss a moment of it. I apologised in my head to Nana Weasley, and all the other family members I'd quietly scorned at previous weddings for being over-emotional. Freddie and Brigid's happiness was infectious and I found myself grinning from ear to ear as my two best friends, who had been made for each other from the start, finally became man and wife.

As soon as the ceremony was over, and Freddie and Brigid had passed us on their way back down the aisle, Carlotta took my arm.

"You _loved_ that," she said with a grin as I led her down the aisle behind the bride and groom. "You were beaming like an idiot the whole way through. I saw you. You're a changed man, Mr Potter. Next thing you'll be picturing our big day in your head."

I turned to look at her, slightly panicked.

"You _are_ joking, right?"

She laughed.

"Correct answer," she said, steering me towards a table. "Come on, we can talk to the happy couple later."

She led me to one side, towards an empty table. On the way there, someone walked into me, and let out a squeal.

"Sorry, Professor Potter, sir!" Lorcan Scamander said.

"It's fine," I replied, grinning. "I hope you've been working on your flying over the holiday!"

"Yes, sir, very hard," he replied, before darting off.

"It's so weird to hear you being called 'Professor'." Carlotta giggled. "I still maintain Professor McGonagall was an idiot to give so much responsibility and authority to someone who can't even keep a pygmy puff alive. I swear you're just trying to see how many idiotic ways there are of murdering the poor things." She grinned cheekily as she sat down.

The demise of poor old Cordelia two weeks earlier was still a sore point, and Carlotta found great amusement in reminding me of my poor pet's death at every opportunity.

"I misjudged Flora's length!" I protested.

She snorted.

"Only you could whack a broomstick round a pygmy puff's head." She grabbed a flute of champagne from a floating tray. "You're not getting another one, are you?"

"Of course I am!" I cried indignantly.

"I think you should leave this next one in the flat for me to look after, instead of taking it to Hogwarts with you," she said dryly. "You clearly can't be trusted with anything living. It's a good thing you decided to pursue a career that involves brooms, not animals. It's a wonder Flora's still in one piece!"

"Shut it," I scowled. "Actually, it's funny you should mention my living at Hogwarts..."

She raised an eyebrow, looking intrigued.

"Do go on," she said.

"I've got a business proposition..."

* * *

><p><em>AN: ...to be revealed in the sequel!_

_So this is a bit of a surreal feeling. I've been working on this fic for over three years now, and there have been times when I've wondered if I'd ever get to the end, so it's a pretty good feeling to have finally made it here. Thank you to all of you who have read this fic, and an even bigger thank you to everyone who's left a review over the last 64 chapters. I really do appreciate every single one of them, and it's those words of encouragement which have helped me through the writer's block._

_As I've said, this is the end of this fic but not the end of James and Carlotta's story - there will be a sequel, entitled Derailed. I've started working on it already, and I hope to start posting it in the next couple of months, so keep an eye out for that._

_Hope to see you all at the next one!_


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